A Knight For Christmas
by The Real F'n Scorp
Summary: When Captain Gordon finds himself in serious trouble on Christmas Eve, there's only one thing he can think to ask Santa for: A Knight For Christmas. T for mildly suggestive themes and language. No pairings.
1. The Call

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… welcome and Happy Holidays!

For starters let's get the standard disclaimer out of the way: if something looks like DC owns it, they most probably do. I am just borrowing it for the sake of this story and will return it (gently used) once I am done.

This story is my advent holiday submission and I will be posting one chapter everyday until December 25th. Because I miscalculated my dates, I will be posting two chapters today to catch myself up.

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button!

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><p>Winter had come again to the city of Gotham.<p>

This, of course, was a natural occurrence. Seasons change, especially in this northeastern part of the country where Jack Frost most liked to ply his icy trade. It was Christmas evening and Gotham was alive with its celebration of the festive season. The streets were all covered in a fine layer of freshly fallen snow, the windows of the homes and businesses they passed frosted over with silvery webs of ice. Icicles sparkled like jagged diamonds from eaves and naked branches. Colorful lights twinkled from rooftops, shimmered amongst the branches of the Christmas trees that had been placed in front of windows, and glowed merrily from inside stores in order to attract last minute holiday shoppers. It was all meant to convey a suggestion about coming in from the cold, taking a look around, and deciding to buy something for someone you may have unintentionally forgotten.

He knew that even the trees of Gotham City Park had been bedecked in holiday finery, each and every one having been adorned by one of the handful of schools in each of the city's school boroughs. All over Gotham, children were happily pulling each other around in homemade sleds, having snowball fights and making snow angels before the temperatures dropped too low and they were called back indoors. Those not outside were glued to televisions, playing the latest video game or watching a favorite movie while adults conversed over steaming mugs of spiced cider or chilled glasses of wine in another room.

_It is a remarkable night_, thought Alfred Pennyworth, as he drove the Rolls-Royce off the expressway. He drew to a stop at the red light, looked in both directions, and then slowly turned left onto Ashbury Road. The star atop the hundred foot tree in Gotham Square splashed across the windshield, looking like a golden beacon battering back the night. To him that star was a symbol that there was still goodness and light in the world. He briefly wondered if his employer noticed it. He frequently found himself wondering if Master Bruce stopped to appreciate the simple beauty that was to be found in this often cold, and cruel world in which they lived. He'd found himself wanting to ask, _Do you remember what Christmas is about, Master Bruce_? _Do you recall that this is a time of celebration, of peace, joy and happiness? Do you remember that it is about families and togetherness?_

He even thought about asking him, _Do you remember any of those early Christmases with your mother and father? Do you recall how the Manor would look, bedecked in the holiday finery you and your mother would put up together? Do you remember how every room would end smelling of holly, pine and gingerbread? Can you recall how your lovely mother would sit at that grand piano on Christmas morning and help you play holiday music while your father would accompany with his rich baritone? _It was the same rich baritone that his son had, he realized now, an echo of that decades old grief surfacing to haunt him.

He especially didn't dare ask him,_ Do you ever see how much like them you have become_?

Or,_ Do you ever think about those Christmases and remember them for the good times they were, and not the reminders of everything you have lost?_

He didn't ask him any of those questions. No, he didn't ask him any of the questions that were frequently on his mind. _And why is that_? he mused as he turned right onto Harrington. It wasn't like he _couldn't_ speak his mind. He was not, after all, the mere "butler" for the most affluent man in Gotham. Nor was his passenger a "regular" employer. They did not have what was considered the "normal" employer-employee relationship. For one thing, "ordinary" butlers did not drive Rolls-Royce's outfitted with armored plating, bullet-proof glass, and which were equipped with police scanners. Nor were "typical" employers also an exceptionally trained, heavily armored and extremely skilled crime fighter. _Exceptionally trained, heavily armored and extremely skilled, but still recuperating from a very long evening spent fighting the scourge of this city just a mere sixteen hours ago employer, _he corrected silently.

Even as the reminder of all that Master Bruce had endured crossed his mind, the scanner screamed to life. This, sadly, was also not surprising to Alfred. The particular frequency this radio was perpetually set upon was one that was hardly quiet for long. Alfred had learned a long time ago that crime never slept in a city like Gotham. He'd also hen the city was silent was when it was at its most dangerous.

"_I need all units not already assigned for a possible disturbance down at the docks."_

The voice that came from the darkness of the backseat was soft, but coated in velvet steel. "Turn right onto Park Avenue, Alfred. And stop near the alley outside _Aces & Eights_."

Alfred released a soft sigh before saying, "As you wish, Master Bruce."

He didn't see the flash of white that briefly broke the murky shadows hugging the figure in the backseat.

"And Alfred?"

He ignored the slight speckle of humor that coated those words.

"Yes, Master Bruce?" he asked politely instead.

"Step on it."

Alfred smiled as he glanced at his employer in the rearview mirror. "As you wish, sir."

The butler-turned-chauffeur flipped on the blinker and maneuvered the big car around the corner onto the narrow, cobblestone street. The one thing that the butler did not need to do was glance in the rear view mirror. He knew what was transpiring in the cramped confines of the Rolls' backseat. Master Bruce had become quite adept at divesting himself of his formal attire in the couple of years since he'd started his nocturnal career. What was most amazing to Alfred was how blithely he'd come to accept his employer's chosen profession. He braked to a stop by the entrance into an alley next to a less than respectable looking establishment.

The neon green sign above the door sputtered on and off, its iron lettering revealing he'd stopped in front of the right place. Traffic here was absolutely non-existent. Park Avenue was where the East End's seedier bars were located. It was a one-way street, too narrow to allow cars to travel in both directions. Most of Gotham's streets were like this, considering how many of them were well over two hundred years old. Many of the cities homes and buildings were still representative of the old style of architecture that had been prevalent at the time of Gotham's founding. There was, the butler knew, more than a hint of the Gothic Revival still in Gotham to be sure.

"Please deliver my regrets to Ferris, Alfred, and tell him that I look forward to making up for my absence tonight at his Christmas Eve dinner at our New Year's Eve party. I'm confident that you will handle things with your usual diplomacy."

"Of course, sir. Shall I use the standard excuse as the reason for why you could not attend his dinner party this evening?"

"I have a standard excuse?"

There was an even stronger hint of humor in that velvet baritone now. Alfred checked to make sure he still had a pulse before he replied.

"Yes," he said dryly. "The standard excuse being that you are being regrettably detained by whichever of Gotham's beauties that you happen to be consorting with at the time."

There was a discreet cough from the backseat that may have passed for a laugh. Given how his employer infrequently engaged in any sort of joviality, however, the butler couldn't be sure of his interpretation of the sound. Yet it eased some of the anxiety that had been plaguing him since the evening before. Sirens starting to bleat in the distance caused that concern to return, though. Alfred glanced out the front glass and flinched when he spied a spotlight shining something- _a bat_? high up into the night sky. His brow puckered as he studied the rather crudely designed symbol. _Whoever made that is either trying to make contact with Batman because they need his help, or it is a trap that they intend to use to bring Batman to them so they can hurt him. _Either way, he would have to point out the beacon to Master Bruce.

There'd be no living with the boy if he didn't tell him about it.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"Do you see the symbol shining in the sky?"

Alfred heard the slight sound that his employer made deep in his throat. "That's coming from the roof of the GCPD building," he heard Bruce muse in that way that said he was already reaching for the case he'd ordered packed "just in case something should come up." The butler buried his misgivings and swallowed his sigh. His objections had all gone unheeded the night before. He was positive that they would be treated in much the same way this evening as well.

"Do you think someone is trying to make contact with you?"

"I think it could be Gordon trying to make contact with me, actually."

"Why would Captain Gordon call for Batman with such a crudely made Batsignal?" He saw Bruce glance up, that very same question swirling in the depths of his eyes. "Can he not contact you through the police's own radio frequencies?"

"He would make contact with me using the police's own radio frequency, yes," Bruce said. "Unless the GCPD's radio frequency has become compromised. Or..." he trailed off into a sigh.

"Do you think Captain Gordon has been injured?"

"I'm not sure, Alfred. That is why I am going to go to the GCPD. I want to check things out and make sure that all is as it should be."

Alfred heard the snap of material as it was unfurled and imagined Bruce swirling the cape around his broad shoulders. It broke his heart that his employer was donning a cape and mask in order to run around Gotham on Christmas Eve. _Instead of chasing bad guys you should be relaxing around a fire with your young wife and an infant of your own_, he told the young man. _You deserve more from your life than this_. _You deserve love and happiness. To have a family of your own_. He knew if he expressed his sentiments, though, that the words would fall upon deaf ears. Just like they always did.

So Alfred just sighed before saying to his employer, "Do be careful, Master Bruce. You have not actually had a chance to rest or recuperate from last night's activities. And you have admitted yourself that you do not know just who it is that could be trying to make contact with you. This could be a trap."

"I know it could be a trap, Alfred," Bruce said. "And I will be the one who springs it." He heard the back door open then, felt the brief chill that snaked its way through the luxury car against the back of his neck. "I'll be careful," he heard his employer rasp in that voice he used whenever he was his alter ego. "Get back to the cave as soon as you can. I might find myself in need of your help in dealing with whatever it is that this person could want or need."

"I shall do my very best, sir."

Then the door closed and that figure was being swallowed up by the shadows lurking in that dark alley. Alfred released another breath, waited barely a moment, and then drove off. At the end of the block he turned right onto Barclay Avenue, which, if memory served him correctly, would take him back to the expressway. He caught a glimpse of that Batsignal from the corner of his eye and felt a pull of something- trepidation or fear; he did not know which, deep in his belly.

_Do be mindful, Master Bruce, _he thought as he turned onto the MacArthur Expressway. _There are any number of enemies who would dearly love to put Batman out of commission_.

And there were none, he knew, who were more dangerous than the man his employer had brought to justice just the night before: the Joker.

_Please, don't let it be that animal_, was his final thought as he accelerated and embarked upon the short trek back to Wayne Manor.


	2. Trust the Night

**A/N**: Hello again m'dears… this chapter makes the chapter that should have been posted today had I posted Chapter 1 yesterday as I should have. Updates from here on out will be daily until the 25th.

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

**Disclaimer**: Just a small trigger warning, but there is mentions of a child predator in this piece and references to pedophilia.

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><p>In the dark shadows of the alley behind the GCPD building, at exactly 8:01 PM, the three co-conspirators met. Soon, the plan they had been hatching for weeks would come to fruition. There would be no more need for them to meet in secret. They would no longer have to worry about departmental retribution for taking a few bribes from people like Falcone, Sionis, Maroni, Berkeley, and Cobblepot. They would not have to worry about being imprisoned just because they looked the other way while Bane or one of the lower level crime syndicates ran a shipment of guns or drugs across Gotham Docks. Nor would they have to worry about losing their jobs and pensions just because they allowed a few scumbags to skirt on some jail time.<p>

Quite simply, they'd no longer find themselves under the eagle eyed scrutiny of Captain James "Jim" Gordon. Nor would they have to keep watch out for any of his stool pigeons. They would be free to do as they pleased, rich as Croesus and powerful as all hell. They would be feared by the weak and worshipped as Gods by those they allowed to partake of the forbidden fruit. Until then, however, the three who met would continue to meet as they had been: in secret. Being foolish now would undo everything they'd been working these past few weeks to achieve.

"Are youse absolutely sure that Gordon knows nothing about us meeting like this?" Dustin Jones questioned nervously. "Man ain't a fool. And," he added in a low murmur, "he has his spies _everywhere_. He could well have someone watching us from somewhere nearby or who is just waiting ta swoop in and pinch our sorry ass-"

"Calm down, Jones," the second figure, a twenty-year vet named Rolonov, spat in a hard tone. "Gordon is busy trying to figure out how, and where Croc has disappeared off too. Neither he nor his spy squad are gonna be paying us even a cursory amount of attention at the moment."

"Still…" Jones whined in a nasal tone that grated upon the nerves of his companions. "He could have spies _anywhere_. He could even have the Bat helping him!" He shot a quick glance over his shoulder, peering into every shadowy corner he could see for a glimpse of the mysterious figure garbed all in black. "Youse all know that Gordon asked Batman ta help with rounding up that painted freak last night. Pretty clear they've gotten chummy all the sudden…"

"I assure you Batman is not working with Gordon," the third man, a relative newcomer to the force by the name of Branson said. His teeth flashed white in the darkness. "Nor is he going to be lurking somewhere nearby. Not for tonight, at least."

Jones turned burning eyes upon the confident man. "And youse know this how, Branson?" he demanded. "What? Ya got a crystal ball stuffed in your pocket that is showing ya where the Batfreak is gonna be tonight?"

Branson flicked his gaze over the trembling man, disgusted by his show of cowardice. "I happen to know that the Bat is going to be quite busy and won't have time to worry about what _we'll_ be doing. He'll be too busy fending for himself."

Jones scoffed. "And your belief that Batman might not be out there watching; just waiting for the right moment in which ta swoop out the shadows and grab us tells us what a blind fool that ya are!"

"And unlike you, who ran from the stationhouse the second Gordon dismissed you, I was there when the tasty little morsel that is going to help in keeping Batman occupied tonight got dropped off by her nanny. Even the _Bat_…" he paused, sneered, "won't risk any harm coming to the pampered brat."

"That's it? That's why ya are figuring that Batman ain't gonna come after us? He's gonna be fixated on keeping Gordon's _niece_ safe?" Jones scoffed, sneered. "And pray tell me where protecting Berkeley's brat prevents him from showing up and putting a hurtin' on the three of us?" He tossed his arms wildly into the air. "He can do that and then take the kid out for a bowl of freaking ice cream! It really won't make a difference ta him one way or the other!"

"Batman won't risk the brats life," Branson said in a voice that was laced with cold contempt and ringing with resentment. "He tends to be exceptionally protective of children. And that works well for us tonight since Berkeley is willing to pay extra if we can manage to get rid of the little twerp for him as well."

Rolonov turned his gaze upon the younger man. In the shadows cast by the sliver of the moon, his eyes were a mixture of keen speculation and dark interest. "Why do you resent the kid so much, Branson?" he questioned in a gravelly tone. "She's harmless and unimportant." He waved a hand. "Forget her."

"Forget her?" Branson growled. "_Forget her_?"

He'd been trying to forget the brat ever since she'd escaped from his grasp a year ago! His obsession with the eight-year-old was getting out of control. He knew that it was. It wasn't as if he could control his urges. The little twerp was haunting his every thought—awake or asleep, it did not seem to matter. The girl was constantly at the forefront of his thoughts. The desire to pluck the rose while it was still a tight little bud was a gnawing ache in the pit of his belly. He knew a minuscule part of his obsession with the girl was because she was a weapon that could be used to emotionally destroy Gordon and Batman both. He wanted to possess the girl simply because it would bring both men to their knees. Ah, but a large part of it was the girl herself. Those huge green eyes of hers, those kewpie doll lips and nubile limbs called out to him, begging for his touch and possession.

"Raya Berkeley is of little importance to us," he heard Rolonov say. "Berkeley said _if _we can get rid of his daughter at the same time as Gordon, then go ahead and do so. But that's only _if _we can manage to get rid of her at the same time as we get rid of Gordon. So, put the girl from your mind and focus upon what our main objective is: getting rid of Gordon."

Branson turned towards the veteran detective, his mouth set in a hard, thin line. "Have you forgotten that he's willing to pay us double _if _we can manage to get rid of the brat?"

"I can assure you that I have not forgotten about how Berkeley has specified that he will pay us double what we asked for _if _we get rid of the kid at the same time we get rid of Gordon," Rolonov assured him in a somber voice. "I am just telling you that Raya Berkeley is the least of our concerns at this moment."

"The little brat is the largest of our concerns at this moment," Branson grated out harshly. "She's already caused us problems by hiding somewhere in the building."

"We gotta find the twerp," Jones squawked. "We gotta find her before she can make contact with Gordon and tell him about us trying ta grab her." Then he let out a squeal that reminded Rolonov and Branson of a pig. "We gotta find her before she can contact _Batman_!"

"Smith and Little are searching the building for the girl as we speak," Rolonov told him firmly. "And calm yourself. There's no way she can make contact with either the Bat or Gordon."

"That kid is much more resourceful than either of youse give her credit for being," Jones snapped. "She'll find a way ta make contact with…"

"That's enough, Officer Jones," Rolonov snapped. "Your cowardice is disgusting and unfit for an officer in our regime." At first it looked as if Jones would continue. But the man wisely held his tongue, something which Branson and Rolonov both were thankful for. Then Rolonov turned to Branson. "The kid wouldn't be missing if you had managed to control yourself. You," his voice dropped now to a low, dark hiss, "are who caused the brat to run and hide." At Branson's snort, he growled, "This is exactly what happened the last time that Berkeley asked us to get rid of her and Gordon. You couldn't control your… _urges. _You caused the little brat to run and tell Gordon's other brat about how you were messing with her. Your sexual proclivity ruined what was a flawless plan."

Branson's jaw and fists clenched, and his eyes flashed with fire. "Excuse me?"

"If you could actually control yourself whenever the kid comes around we wouldn't be scouring the building right now in search of her." Rolonov jabbed a finger in the smaller man's chest. "You keep tipping the chit off by staring at her as if she is a piece of candy."

"That isn't important right now," Jones twittered nervously. "What's important is making sure she doesn't make contact with Batman! We gotta find the kid before she somehow gets the bastard's attention."

"If the twerp _actually _manages to make contact with Batman," Rolonov said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Then I will see to it that he is disposed of. We have a number of individuals in Blackgate right now who'd love nothing better than a second opportunity to fulfill the contract that was taken out on Batman months ago. Now," he paused to look at both men. "Let's get down to business. Our time is growing short and we need to make sure that we have everything in place."

Rolonov's words worked to end any further discussion upon the matter. The three officers got down to business, plotting the downfall of their Captain, his stool pigeon, Harvey Bullock, Batman, and anybody else who stupidly got in their way.

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><p><em>"You must learn to trust the night."<em>

That's what Master Kazhashi Liu Bi Wen first told him after he'd traveled high into the mountains of Tibet in order to train at the legendary sensei's knee. It was, as he'd quickly come to understand, the most important lesson he needed to learn if he wanted to become the hero he desired to be.

"Let the night become your partner, and your friend," the wizened grand master told him during their initial training sessions in that sun dappled dojo. "Let it become your lover, your confidante, your greatest ally. It will be the one constant in your life that will never fail you."

How Wen had known, how he'd even suspected just what it was that he planned on doing with all the training he'd been collecting during the years he'd spent abroad, he did not know. Somehow Wen had divined his intentions, his ulterior motives-his ultimate _plan_. Bruce Wayne had known Wen had known his agenda from the first moment they'd met in that temple dojo. Master Wen had made it no secret that he had known, either. Seventy-eight years old and blind in one eye, Wen commanded the legions who came to train in his ways of swordsmanship with merely a glance. He'd taught him how to move like water between the sand, strike like iron against rice paper. Nobody in that dojo could touch him (not even Bruce). Bruce doubted that there was a man (or woman) in the entire world that could touch Master Wen.

He'd learned much while training at that old swordsman's knee.

_Trust the night._

The phrase flashed like lightning through his mind as he plunged into the shadows of the alley between the _Aces & Eight_ and an old milliner's shop. The night was the one constant in his life (besides Alfred) that had never failed him. The night had yet to steer him wrong. He much doubted that it ever would. The night had, in and of its own fashion, guided him through the sequence of events that had taken place on Christmas Eve. And it was the night that was whispering to him about how that spotlight shining that childish looking symbol into the sky was not a trap. It was a call for aide. Someone was in trouble and reaching out to _him _for help. He just didn't know who it was. Or why they were calling him.

But he aimed to find out.

_Trust the night_? he thought as he reached for the grapnel gun attached to his belt.

He _was _the night.

He was Gotham's Knight, in fact.

Ten minutes later he was pulling himself up onto a gargoyle that overlooked the GCPD helipad.

There he crouched to watch.

And to wait.


	3. The Hero Arrives

**A/N**: Hello again m'dears…

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

**Disclaimer**: Just going to keep the small trigger warning up as there is mentions of a child predator in this piece and references to pedophilia.

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><p>From the roof of the GCPD building, Gotham looked like any American city. However, eight-year-old Raya Kean-Berkeley knew well how looks could be deceiving. What appeared on the surface to be the average city in the middle of celebrating a festive holiday was in reality a city unlike many others. Gotham was like Chicago, Atlanta, and Los Angeles in that it had a high criminal element. However, it was unlike those cities in two major ways: Batman and the league of extraordinary criminals he often had to face. Nor were those cities currently struggling to recover after being ravaged by disordered mayhem and fiery pandemonium less than twenty-four hours before. <em>Not that that was an unusual occurrence<em>, she thought. Raya, much like the other denizens of the city, had learned _anarchy _and _Gotham _went together about as well as marshmallows and hot chocolate, peanut butter and grape jelly, and strawberries and whip cream. In a city like Gotham, it was more likely that you would get run over or shot than you would getting a raise.

Every day-week-month-year brought some fresh horror. Every second-minute-hour became another in a long list of nightmares. When this northeastern city was quiet was when one needed to be their most vigilant. _Silent_ was when this city was at its most dangerous. And the people that you thought you could trust to help you during those times of crisis? The people you _should _be able to trust to help you during those times? Well, Raya had learned that they were the very ones that you needed protection _from_. She'd been five when she'd discovered that the majority of those working for the GCPD were morally corrupt men that were no better than those criminals they locked up. The villains who ransacked the city for their own profit and pleasure were at least honest about their intentions. The ones who were masquerading as officers of the law? They played both sides of the field without any qualms or pangs of guilt whatsoever. _Like Detective Branson_. A shudder streaked through the petite girl as she recalled his eyes watching her from across the squad room. That hot, hungry look had caused her belly to curl with dread. Even though she was all of eight, she was far from stupid. Raya knew a bad man when she saw one.

She'd only grown up with Satan as her father, after all.

Raya wasn't the first, and she knew she wouldn't be the last to find herself hand selected for special attention by one of Gotham's vermin. If one were to listen closely, very closely, they could hear the faint cry of all the others who were calling out for help. It was a grim reminder about how this city had monsters lurking in every corner and around every bend. Last night those beasts had ripped this city apart in pursuit of the very man who sought to help save it from their depravity. Even now, with the scent of holly and pine and fresh snow heavy upon the air, the city still reeked of blood and death and destruction.

She knew it would smell that way for months to come.

That the city had not been destroyed the night before could only be accredited to the timely intervention of Batman. In her (rather jaded opinion), it was Batman, not the GCPD, who was Gotham's savior. He'd risked life and limb in order to stop the Joker from setting fire to this city. He'd saved hundreds of unaware people from being hurt by a nutty clown who'd decided to rain anarchy down upon them simply because it made him "smile." He'd even rescued her uncle from that pasty-faced maniac.

And he'd done it all without asking for anything in return.

Batman was not only the champion of a beleaguered city, but he'd also managed to become her hero, as well. He was a symbol of hope for people quickly losing faith in such things as _heroes_. Batman was why she was out here on the roof of the GCPD. She needed her Knight's help. But getting in touch with Batman wasn't exactly as easy as picking up a telephone and calling him. There wasn't a phone listing for _Batman _in the Gotham telephone directory. So she'd improvised. She'd made her own directory. She shifted around to stare at the searchlight which stood a few feet away from her. The bat-shaped symbol she'd affixed to that klieg spotlight in order to call her hero here, to the roof of the GCPD building wasn't overly pretty, but what did that matter so long as it worked to bring Batman here.

A sound, much like the flapping of wings came from behind her. Hope and excitement caused her heart to beat a little faster, her pulse to quicken, and her mouth to run dry. _Had he come_? She prayed he had as she slowly turned. Her heart leapt into her mouth when she saw _him _standing there, a larger than life figure who struck terror in the hearts of the bad people threatening to poison this city with their machinations and vitriolic greed. He approached the spotlight without making a sound, his cape fluttering behind him in the breeze and reminding her of grasping, greedy fingers. He reached out to trace the bat-shaped emblem she'd made from printer paper with one gloved finger before he slowly turned towards her.

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><p>Batman angled his head to look down at the small girl that was staring back at him. There was such wide-eyed fascination and childlike awe upon her face that it almost made him smile. <em>Someone has a definite case of hero worship, <em>he thought with a small degree of amusement.

"Did you do this?" he asked in the more velvety tones of _Bruce Wayne _than the cold rasp that he'd cultivated for when he was _Batman_. "Did you make a bat-signal in order to bring me here?"

She'd needed him to come, and he'd done just that. Now that she stood face to... well, _hip_ with him, she found that all she could do was duck her head, and avert her eyes. Finally, after some hand wringing and shuffling about, she nodded. Batman noted her nervous movements. It was shyness, he decided, coupled with what seemed like an unusual amount of insecurity for one so young. To scold her for using such a manipulative method in order to meet him seemed unfair. Especially since he suspected that this little girl had not called upon him simply because she desired to meet her hero in person.

"It is a very clever way for calling me when there is a problem in the city that requires my attention."

The unexpected praise sent tingles of heat careening through Raya. Any type of praise was a gift to be treasured. Coming from _him_, though, the words were all the more special. She would recall them on those days when such words were not accorded her. She smiled up at him, unaware that her face glowed as if a thousand candles had been set alight beneath her skin. It was a glow he, dark and tortured hero he was, wanted to capture in the palm of his hand and hold forever. As much as he didn't want to be, he found himself enchanted by her.

She reminded him of one of the faeries out of a _Midsummer Night's Dream_. She crept closer, her every step a tentative one, her expression sliding backwards into that shy one of a few moments before. Something told him how trust with this little girl was a rare and precious gift. Her reserved, quiet demeanor and her cool composure were not normal for an eight-year-old. Nor were the high number of secrets that swirled in those big eyes gazing up at him with such childlike rapture. It was like she'd already lived a lifetime and was simply waiting for the end to finally come. It was the other reason for why he did not scold her for. It would fracture the fragile bond between them, and slice wounds into a heart he suspected already had dozens of marks carved into it.

_Who_? He silently asked her. _Who hurt you_?

He crouched so he was at eye level with her before asking gently, "What is your name?"

A faint hint of color bloomed in her cheeks and she ducked her head again before mumbling, "Raya."

"And why did you send up a bat-signal, Raya?"

That brought an instant change to her face. The sweet shyness of a second before was replaced by a fear so intense that it clutched his heart in an invisible hand and squeezed it tight.

"My uncle is missing."

He cocked his head to the side, regarding her curiously. "Who is your uncle?"

"Jim Gordon."

Beneath his cowl, his eyebrows shot up. He studied her intently and finally noticed the faint resemblance between her and Jim's daughter, Barbara. They both had skin like fresh cream, high cheekbones and kewpie doll lips in the same shade of pink. But that was where the similarities ended. Where Barbara had ginger colored hair like her father, this sprite's hair was a springy mass of dark curls forming a halo around her face. She was a pretty thing, of that there was no doubt. Slender and small-framed, small of features as well. Ah but it was those eyes of hers that were her most striking feature. They were long and dominant in that pixie like face, and green as the manicured lawns at Wayne Manor.

"Why do you think Captain Gordon is missing?"

"He was only supposed to be gone for an hour," she told him in a nervous chirp. "He said he was only going to go and check out what happened and then come back to get me. He hasn't come back. And," she continued in that nervous warble, "he hasn't called to check in like he normally does."

"Where did he go?"

"Blackgate."

"He left you here at the GCPD to go out to Blackgate?" When she gave a jerky nod of her head he asked, "Why?"

"He said I would be safer here than with him."

That made sense to Batman. Blackgate was barely safe for men like him and Jim Gordon. It was certainly no place for a little girl. Especially with men as dangerous as the Joker, Bane, Floyd Lawton and Slade Wilson as some of the facilities newest residents. However, why the girl was here at the GCPD and not safely at home bothered him. It made no sense whatsoever that a man like Gordon would leave his niece here while he went to investigate a disturbance at Blackgate. It seemed... _odd_. Where were her mother and father? he wondered. Where was her cousin Barbara?

"Raya," he kept his tone light, but interjected it with enough steel to convey that he needed her to not only listen to him, but answer him as honestly as she could. "Why did your uncle go out to Blackgate?"

"The Crocodile Man got released from his cell."

_The Crocodile Man_. _Croc_? But... "Croc was put in isolation," he told her. "He couldn't get out of his cell."

_Not without help, _he amended silently.

"Someone let him out."

Understanding washed over him in sheets. "That's what your uncle went to investigate."

Her fingers ghosted over his then, pure ivory against ebony. He could feel those tiny digits trembling through the thick material of his glove. She was scared, bad enough that she was actually seeking out his comfort and reassurance. Yet something warned him that if he made a move, if he so much as dared touch her at that moment, she'd instantly pull away. He remained still even when her fingers slide between his, loathe to do anything that might make this tiny waif scurry away from him.

"What is it, Raya?"

_What is frightening you? _He silently asked her_. Tell me so I can make it stop._

She lifted troubled eyes to his. "I think the Crocodile Man has done something bad to him. He would have come back like he'd promised if he was okay."

"When did he go to investigate what happened?"

"Three hours ago."

That had his eyebrows shooting up again. "He's been gone for three hours?"

"Yes."

"Didn't someone in your uncle's command think they should check in and make sure that he was okay?"

"Detective Branson said he talked to Uncle Jim and that everything was fine."

Batman smelled a _but_. His lips ghosted up into a smile before he said, "But?"

"But Detective Branson is _lying_," there was anger in her voice, on her face now. "I tried to call Uncle Jim on his phone after he said he spoke to him. He didn't answer. And Kathy in dispatch said nobody tried to raise my uncle on the comms. Then Detective Branson…" she trailed off.

Batman saw something flicker briefly upon her face that had alarm bells going off inside his head. It was the same look a doe had when it was being hunted by a rabid wolf. _Son of a bitch_. Anger raged in him, hot, roiling and familiar. It was no wonder she'd fashioned a way to call him there. The people who were supposed to be protecting _her _while Gordon worked to protect the city were the very ones _she _needed protection _from_.

"What did Detective Branson do?" he asked the question in a harsher tone than he intended. He saw the flicker of uncertainty that fluttered across her face, saw the shadow of fear and doubt that burned for a second in her eyes and ached for it. He ached for _her_. Someone had hurt this little girl, and terribly. He vowed to find out who it was and make them pay. He softened his tone. "What did he do?"

"He's a bad man," was all she would say.

It was all she needed to say.

"Is there nobody in your uncle's command that you could tell this too?"

"Mr. Bullock is here." Her lower lip trembled then and her eyes filled with tears. "And I tried to tell him about Uncle Jim being in trouble, but he ordered me to go back to his office and stay there. But I _know _something is wrong! I just know it!" Her fingers clenched around his, silently beseeching him to believe her. "Uncle Jim would call me if he was okay. He would have come back. He knows I don't like it here. He knows..."

"Shh," he murmured, reaching out to cup her cheek in the palm of his glove. "It's okay, Raya. I'll find your uncle for you."

_And I'll put a stop to this man before he can touch you_.

She nuzzled her cheek into his palm. "Promise?"

"Promise."

She smiled, the light of her earlier happiness again filling her face with that glow he found so captivating. It disappeared a second later when the access door slammed open and two officers in full SWAT gear came barreling out onto the roof.

"It's the Bat!" the smaller of the two men stammered. "What are we gonna do, Yancy?"

"Shoot 'em, ya idiot!"

"Hold onto me, Raya," Batman said even as he scooped her up. She wound her arms around his neck without a moment's hesitation. He fired a grapnel line at the same moment that the officers raised the automatic rifles they carried in their arms. Then they were weightless, pulled into the night sky a mere second before gunfire exploded below them.


	4. Early Christmas Presents

**A/N**: Hello again m'dears…

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

**S/N**: Trigger warning for depiction of death and violence against women in this chapter.

* * *

><p>The nuclear power plant was on the outskirts of Gotham, right on the bay. Officer Ethan Tate had expected it to smell, but the odor was much less pungent than he'd thought it would be. Thick pipes and other conduits linked various tanks, pumps, storage units, and basins with each other. Thermal power stations drove a stream of steam turbines connected to a series of generators that produced most of the electricity in the city. The whole complex was designed in such a way as to keep the power in the city on no matter what. Most people felt that the excess discharge that flowed into the water that ran below the city was just an unfortunate byproduct of the process. Tate wasn't sure he agreed with their theory or not. While having the power remain on no matter how cold the city got, or how ravaged it was by one of the special criminals they had seemed like a good idea on the outside, destroying a natural resource in order to have that privilege didn't seem like a fair trade-off.<p>

He and his partner, Sergeant Anthony Renaldo, got out of their patrol car. Renaldo was a late twenty-something Italian-American, just a few years older than Ethan. He'd graduated from the Academy at the end of Ethan's first year at Gotham University. Without him, Ethan wasn't sure he'd have survived his own six weeks of training. They had been partners for the last year now, with Renaldo teaching him the ropes and showing him how a beat cop survived in a city as inhospitable as Gotham. Ethan knew he could always count on Tony to have his back, no matter what the situation. Same as he'd always have his.

It was early evening and they had just started what was going to amount to a double shift for them both. Not that they minded. Neither of them had much family. His twin sister, Erin was pulling a double at the hospital, anyway. Working an extra shift made more sense than staying home alone did. Although fresh snow had fallen less than an hour before, it barely coated the ground. The plant's night supervisor, an unlucky guy named Rolston led them to a long concrete trough filled with foul-looking water. There was a slimy green film coating the water's surface—and a lifeless body stretched out atop a grimy metal grate above the basin. The body was naked, and mottled with bruises.

"We get bodies that wash up here a couple times a year," Rolston explained. "Usually they're just homeless people who are sheltering in the tunnels to get outta the cold. However," he said in a voice that reflected just how disturbed he was. "We've never had one wash up like this."

"Did you move the body?" Renaldo asked. "Or have any contact whatsoever with it?"

"We had to pull her out to clear the basin, but besides that we didn't touch her." He stayed out of the way, letting the cops approach the body. "Mike wanted to cover her with his coat," he said. "Outta respect for her being a woman and all. I told him that we shouldn't mess with things any more than we had already."

"You know the woman?"

"No, sir," the man replied. "Never saw her before in my life."

"She don't work for the plant?"

Rolston shook his head. "No."

Ethan knelt to inspect the body, which appeared to belong to a young woman, maybe twenty-five at most. There were bruises, some that were creeping black over some that were already that sickly yellow shade of healing, along her back and thighs. More bruises covered her chest and abdomen. Five bruises, all the size and shape of a large hand, circled her throat. Ethan heaved a heavy sigh. _What did you do to deserve this?_ he silently asked the woman. The level of violence perpetrated suggested the attack was personal, each blow meant to teach a lesson. He stared into her glazed over eyes and said a silent prayer. He then took a closer look at her face—and froze as recognition washed over him in icy waves.

_Oh, shit_, he thought. Renaldo immediately took notice of his reaction.

"What is it?" he asked him. "You know her or something?"

"Don't you?" Ethan felt sick to his stomach. "Take a good look at her and you'll recognize who she is."

Renaldo knelt next to him and studied the woman's face. Ethan knew by the way his face blanched that he'd figured out who the dead woman was.

"God, it's Megan." He glanced over at him, his eyes twin pools of shock. "What's she doing here? Wasn't she supposed to be helping Captain Gordon with the breakout at Blackgate?"

Ethan shook his head. "No clue." He ran a hand over his face. "Have to ask Captain Gordon about that."

"I'm gonna radio it in…"

Ethan just nodded as Renaldo radioed dispatch and continued to stare at the pretty blonde who'd had her life so cruelly taken from her that night. He felt his throat tighten. And resisted the urge to reach out and close Megan's eyes for her.

* * *

><p>As soon as he saw that crudely fashioned bat-shaped symbol from the skylight in the squad room, Harvey Bullock went to check on Raya. When he saw that she wasn't seated at Jim's desk (as she was supposed to be) he let out a curse and raced from the room. He lumbered up the roof access stairs as fast as his screaming knees and burning lungs would allow. <em>Need ta give up smokin', drinkin', and all those fried foods <em>_like the doctor told me ta_, he thought as he crested the final set of stairs, panting with the exertion. He ignored his body's loud, whining complaints about acting like a "fool twenty-year-old rookie instead of a nearly forty-year-old veteran" and shoved his way out onto the roof.

What he saw made the bulbous detective immediately screech to a halt. Two officers in full SWAT gear were aiming assault rifles at the figure that stood beside the small girl trembling in terror.

"It's the Bat!" Bullock heard Little stammer. "What are we gonna do, Yancy?"

"Shoot 'em, ya idiot!"

Raya let out a whimper that made Harvey's gut twist.

"Hold onto me, Raya," Batman instructed as he scooped her up into one arm.

Bullock opened his mouth to demand that the costumed hero put the girl down and surrender. Then he heard the _click click _of the assault rifles being primed. Shock crashed over him at what Little and Smith planned to do. It was the only time that Harvey Bullock allowed himself to believe in the masked vigilante who'd sprung up in Gotham City a little over two years before.

"Get her the hell outta here, Batman," he whispered even as Raya curled her arms around the man's neck and buried her face against his cheek. The vigilante fired a line from some sort of device in his hand that made a _poo_sound as it deployed. Then the two were airborne, pulled into the night sky a mere second before the officers opened fire.

Harvey felt rage instantly kick in. _Shoot at the kid'? No stinkin' way_.

"Smith, Little," he barked. "The hell youse clowns doing shootin' at a kid?"

_Shootin' at Jim's kid_, he seethed silently.

"They are following my orders is what they are doing, Bullock," he heard someone…_Rolonov_? say from behind him.

The hair rose on the back of Harvey's neck. An electrical charge hung in the air and filled him with a sense of foreboding. He instantly tensed and reached for his pistol, but there was a loud _thwack _across the back of his head and shoulders. He dropped the pistol as he fell face first to the ground. He was dazed, but still conscious and so rolled to his back in order to face his attacker. He saw Rolonov standing there with a smirk upon his face and a lead pipe in his hands. A snarl burst from Harvey's lips and he went to reach for his pistol, but his attention was caught by the appearance of the other figure who came strolling out of the shadows of the inner stairwell. _Branson_? he thought with a frown. _The hell is going on here_?

"What the hell is youse doing here, Branson? You're on indefinite leave."

Branson looked down at the veteran detective, his mouth set in a hard, thin line.

"What am I doing here?" he simpered. "Why I'm helping to take back what was ours before rats like you and Gordon came along."

"You're a slime bag, Branson," Bullock stated coldly. "Neither you nor Rolonov deserve those gold shields youse love brandishing."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," Harvey replied in a hard voice, "that's so."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," he replied in a nasally tone that grated on Bullock's nerves. "We might have been willing to give you a chance to prove yourself as an asset."

"Go ta hell."

"You first."

Bullock's final thought as the man lifted the gun in his hand: _I'm sorry for not protecting the sprite, Jim_.

Then there was the crack of gunfire and his world exploded in pain.

* * *

><p>The sewers were dark and dank and difficult to navigate. Slime coated the brick and pooled upon the cracked ground. Rats, cockroaches, and other things scurried off into the gaping shadows. Water dripping from a busted pipe was the only sound to be heard within a thirty square foot radius.<p>

_Something's not right_.

It was the only thing Captain James "Jim" Gordon was able to think as he, and the handful of men he'd been able to bring along with him, made their way warily into the old tunnels that ran the entire length of Gotham City. Every instinct screamed at him to turn around and run, to leave. Just take himself back to police headquarters, gather up his niece, Raya, and go home to enjoy the rest of this otherwise catastrophic holiday with her. James Gordon had never shied away from the truth, nor had he ever shirked doing his duty, though.

He'd made his career doing what was needed to be done, making the hard decisions others refused to make, fighting the dirty fight to make sure Gotham's dark underbelly didn't swallow the city in its madness. He'd had to do plenty of things over the years that he wasn't proud of, things that took a piece of his soul and put pressures upon his already rocky relationship with his wife, Barbara. Some nights he had to remind himself of what-_who_, he corrected, would be hurt if his decisions were not the ones he'd made in the moment he'd made them.

He'd accustomed himself to making split second decisions right after he assumed command of this police station. He made split second decisions all the time. It was the nature of his duty to make decisions that were based upon the moment. That was why the veteran detective pushed onwards despite every ounce of him screaming at him to do otherwise. He signaled for his men to follow, watching his step as he crossed over slippery maintenance walkways. Rusted and rickety railing couldn't be counted upon. Raw sewage coursed through an endless sea of drains, the stench so foul that it curdled Gordon's stomach. Bile bubbled hotly at the back of his throat.

He kept his gun drawn, and swept his flashlight over the area. His sharp eyes searched the shadows for any sign of movement. His ears strained to detect even the slightest of sounds. For a few, nerve wracking seconds he imagined that the monster _they _were chasing was actually in pursuit of _them_.

It was a disconcerting thought to be sure.

He thought he detected heavy footsteps ahead, just around a corner. He signaled to the men behind him to be on the lookout. "Keep steady," he told them in a hushed whisper. "And be vigilant. This animal is dangerous."

"Yes, sir," they replied.

Adrenaline sang in his veins, kept him vigilant. He welcomed the raw edge. After the disastrous events of the night before, he needed a chase like this. He knew what he needed to do here, he knew what he was hunting down, he knew what he was bringing to justice. Thinking about the criminal he was here to bring in had Gordon thinking about another man, one he'd chosen to let go despite the law labeling him as a vigilante.

_I keep asking myself why I didn't bring you in, _he silently said to the absent hero_. I should, you know. The law says I should. But I don't because... Well, it doesn't feel right. Both Raya and Barbara believe in you, say you are here to help. God, I hope they're right_. He blew out a breath as he crept around the corner. _I want them to be right_.

The moment he rounded the corner, though, he was met with a hailstorm of gunfire instead of the razor sharp teeth and claws of Killer Croc. Muzzles belched fire. Bullets slammed into the walls, chipping away at the brick and sprinkling Gordon's face with bits of mortar and stone. The cramped tunnel served to amplify the deafening roar of the guns, making him flinch. The acrid stench of cordite mingled with that of the stench of the sewers themselves.

Gordon and his men pulled back, taking cover while returning fire. In the dense shadows, it was difficult to make out just who was shooting at them. Gordon realized that the shooters could be members of the homeless that Croc had gathered together before his latest capture or stragglers still from the Joker's crew that hadn't been rounded up the night before. Either way, the veteran detective found himself envying the SWAT members their body armor.

_Who the hell is behind this_?

A sudden explosion lit up the tunnel, sending the SWAT officers flying like paper dolls. They smashed against the walls or were sent head first into the stagnant water swirling below. Staggered but still standing, Gordon felt a scorching heat at his back and turned to see a huge chunk of the wood beams above him were on fire. Dashing into the intersection up ahead, he fled through the tunnels, frantic to get back to the surface and his car radio.

Great whiffs of choking black smoke chased after him, made visibility low and breathing difficult. He twisted around another bend to put more distance between him and the smoke before pausing to get his bearings. He had no idea where he was at this point. On his own now, Gordon held onto his gun firmly and sagged against a damp wall, breathing hard, and shaking from what he knew was lingering shock. He reached up to make sure his glasses hadn't been broken in the melee. His ears were ringing still from the explosion.

Once he calmed down, Gordon started trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. Only thing he knew for sure was that _Croc _wasn't the one behind the explosion. _So who is responsible_? His eyebrows lowered over the bridge of his nose as he tried to figure out that answer. Who would have been able to have set a fiery trap for him? Who even knew about where it was he was heading? The answer flashed into him, cold and deadly: _Branson_.

"Son of a..." he grated out in a voice made harsh from the smoke he'd inhaled. Branson had told him that Croc had escaped into the tunnels. He'd told him which tunnels to enter. He'd set him up. It wasn't like Gordon had to guess why.

_They put me in charge of a division that is nothing but a bunch of dirty cops. And I stirred up trouble when I started turning them in. I thought I could change them, bring honor back to the badge. But I can't stop them any more than I can save this damn city... But maybe, maybe _he _can_. Loose gravel crunched from somewhere behind him. Gordon spun around, his pistol lifted, but he wasn't quick enough. A heavy blow struck him in the head.


	5. A Taste of Parenthood

**A/N**: Hello again m'dears…

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

* * *

><p>The scent of talcum powder assaulted him as they were pulled through the cold night air by that length of braided nylon rope. The wind carried it, stirred it, wrapped it around him in the same way he wrapped his cape around him. It was a subtle reminder about how this sweet pixie who clung to him, who had her face buried against the curve of his neck, was little more than a babe in arms. Raya simply could not be expected to protect, much less defend herself from the monsters infesting this city. Monsters, he knew, that'd be only too willing to consume someone as small and delicate as her. What she needed, he decided as his boots made contact with the stone parapet gracing the roof of the old Burnley Hotel, was someone who could keep an eye on her while he not only tried to figure out how Croc got released from his prison cell, but rescue Gordon from whatever calamity might have befallen him as well.<p>

The question he now found himself asking was _who_? It wasn't like _Batman _had a long list of friends and allies available who could (or even would) babysit Raya while he raced around Gotham in search of her uncle. The only person he had who could (and would) watch out for her was Alfred. However, taking her back to the Manor meant there was the very real possibility of her figuring out that _Bruce Wayne_ was the one masquerading around Gotham as the _Batman_. Alfred was simply too well known a figure for a connection _not_ to be made by even a child like her.

Raya did not strike him as a normal eight-year-old. There was a keen intellect shimmering in her gaze that reminded Bruce very much of himself at her age. Plus, there was something that told him that this girl didn't accept things at face value. She'd examine all the facts presented in order to get at the underlying truth. _She will make an excellent detective when she gets older_. His lips kicked up at the corners. He imagined that this girl would give Gordon the same amount of gray hairs that he'd given Alfred at her age.

_And he has not one, but two girls that he is raising_.

A part of him didn't envy the man the task. Barbara Gordon had proven to be quite a handful the one and only time he'd met her. This little imp had all the markings to be even more of one once she found her confidence and courage. A want to be there, to be involved in her evolution overcame him washed over him. He wanted to watch her grow up, to come into her own. He wanted to see her spread her wings and rise above the traumas that had been inflicted upon her. The question of what to do with the fledgling hammered at him again. The Manor was something that was definitely a last resort, he realized. Unless they could come up with a story that she'd readily accept and not question, he couldn't chance it. He couldn't risk her uncovering his identity.

"Master Bruce," he heard Alfred say in his earpiece. "Are you alright? The police scanners are talking about there being shots fired at the GCPD."

"I'm fine," he replied as he stowed his grapnel gun on his belt. "But there has been a rather unforeseen situation."

"An unforeseen situation in Gotham on Christmas Eve?" The butler drolled. "I cannot even begin to imagine such a thing as being possible."

The ends of Bruce's lips twitched. He had to admit Alfred had a point, though. _Gotham _and _unforeseen incidents_ went together about as frequently as peanut butter and strawberry jelly. Tonight's incident, however, was not something that he felt he could have accurately predicted, not even with the Batcomputer running every simulation and examining every scenario possible. How could he have known that he'd meet, much less become the de facto guardian of Gordon's niece? There just wasn't any way to have seen the likelihood of this particular event occurring, much less to properly prepare for it.

Raya shifted in his arms at that moment and he saw out of the corner of his eye how she was looking out over the city with a mixture of awe and curiosity upon her face. He suspected that this was like the grandest of fairy tales to her. Raya had been cast in the role of the fairy Princess who was being hunted by the band of men that worked for the unseen villain. _And I am the Knight sent by the night to rescue her._ A ripple of amusement shot through him at his brief moment of fancy. It was instantly extinguished when a slippery little voice whispered to him about how this little girl "didn't believe in things like fairy tales or Santa Claus."

She turned her head towards him at that moment and he caught a glimpse of the thoughts and emotions that were swirling like a tornado in those fathomless depths. There was a fire burning inside this child, one being fueled by a tidal wave of things he understood far, far too well. _The__ flame bird_, he realized as he stared into her eyes. _She's the phoenix that is just waiting to be reborn from the ashes_.

Raya must have sensed his internal musings because she buried her face again in the crook of his neck with a small whimper that was a mixture of both her sudden distress and agitation. He made a low, soothing sound deep in his throat and ran a gloved hand over those glossy curls. _Who is it? _he silently begged. _Tell me who it is hurting you and I will stop them. _

"What unforeseen situation has occurred tonight, Master Bruce?" he heard the butler asking him. "Has a parent finally reported the sighting of a black-clad, bat-like creature posing as Santa Claus pattering across their rooftop?"

Bruce felt his lips twitch. "I don't patter."

"A matter of opinion," was his response. "You were saying about there being an unforeseen situation, however?"

"Captain Gordon is missing."

"Missing?" If there was a vague chord of surprise in that proper tone, it was well hidden. Not that he'd expected much else. He'd learned in the last two years that nothing much ever really ruffled Alfred's starched collar. _Well, nothing except for my chosen nocturnal profession_, he amended with a slight grimace. Alfred had blistered his hide for foregoing attending social functions in order to put a stop to the Joker.

"Yes," he confirmed. "He is missing."

"Why do you believe that Captain Gordon is missing? Could it not be that he is simply involved in whatever case he's working and does not have time to radio in?"

"It's possible," Bruce allowed. "But his niece says he went to Blackgate over three hours ago to try and figure out how Croc got released from his cell. Nobody has heard from him since."

"That," Alfred paused, then sighed once. "That is certainly not good."

Neither had to expand upon why it wasn't good. Any time that Croc was free was never good. People tended to end up dead whenever Waylon Jones was around.

"I need to find out just who it was that let Croc out of his cell."

"I take it that you will be heading out to Blackgate to investigate things for yourself then, sir?"

Again Bruce glanced at the little girl he held in his arms. Indecision was creating a volcanic schism inside him. The two sides of him-the vigilante and the playboy, stood at the opposite ends of his mind and warred with each other about what they needed to do and what they knew they should do. The vigilante in him said that going to Blackgate was where he needed to go in order to begin his investigation in not only Gordon's disappearance, but Croc's release as well. The billionaire, though, was saying that the supermax prison was the last place he should be dragging someone as young and defenseless as Raya, especially with how the prison housed criminals like the Joker. He would think nothing about harming a child in order to get at him.

_What am I to do with you_? he silently asked her. _It is clear that the GCPD building is not a safe place for you. Not at this moment_. Yet, it wasn't as if he could leave her somewhere and tell her to wait for him to return, either. There was a very real possibility that the men after her would find her and take her to the man leading them. That this man... _Branson_, he recalled now, was a sexual predator was plain as the snow now gently falling. He made a note to have Alfred pull up everything he could about the detective. Predators like Branson did not just suddenly start preying upon children. Not unless there was some sort of organic cause that explained their sudden change in behavior. They always had a long line of other victims that they'd abused over a period of months, or even decades. Raya, though, was definitely not going to be the next child he abused.

_He will never get his hands upon you_, he silently promised the still figure. _I will stop him before he can_. But the Manor was still not an option for the same reasons he'd already considered. _That leaves the Cave then, _he thought, then frowned. While it wasn't the most ideal place for a child, it was the safest place in the city. It was also the only logical solution he could come up with about what to do with her until he could find Gordon.

In the cave she would be the one thing he suspected she never was: _safe_.

Now how to get her there? Well, that was a bit of a dilemma. _Could be a good time to test out the remote controls of the Batmobile_, he mused.

"Sir?" Alfred asked now with a small bead of worry creeping into his tone. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he replied. "But there is another unforeseen situation that we haven't discussed yet, I'm afraid."

"And what unforeseen situation might that be?" Alfred's voice was as dry as the sands of the Sahara. "The Joker stealing Santa's sleigh and delivering bombs instead of presents to members of Gotham high society?" There was a discreet cough. "_Again_."

Bruce swallowed a laugh. "This is not something that is quite as easy to solve as that was, I'm afraid."

"You mean you have actually found something that is more difficult to do than stopping the Joker from destroying the city?"

Handling the Joker would be a picnic at this point. Against Joker he knew exactly what it was that he needed to do: stop him at all costs. He didn't have to stop and second guess about whether or not his course of action was the right one. He didn't have to worry about the consequences affecting anybody but him. He was only responsible for one person at that moment in time: _himself_.

All of that changed the moment he chose to become Raya's _guardian ad litem_. His actions could cause _her_ to suffer. If he took her with him then he'd have to stop and consider if his choices were the right ones, the best ones, the most logical ones. He also would have to figure out how to explain why _his_ actions were necessary, how they were meant to serve the greater good and bring the bad guys to justice. _That_, he realized when Raya lifted her head to again look at him, was the part he was most struggling with. He'd never spent more than a few minutes at any given time with a child her age.

He didn't have a clue about how to explain why it was okay for him to step on the lines of the law that her uncle served to uphold. Where was the balance between his roles? he wondered as he looked into eyes that already knew more than they should. Was he supposed to be Batman? Or Bruce Wayne? Was there a way for him to be both, or was he just making things more complicated than necessary? He didn't believe he was. Not after everything he'd seen that night. Just growling at her once in that throaty rasp he'd cultivated for his nocturnal role as Gotham's protector had caused her to shrink in upon herself. He didn't want to terrify her every time that he spoke to her in Batman's voice, but he couldn't talk to her in the more velvety baritone he had as Bruce Wayne without jeopardizing his identity.

"Master Bruce?"

Bruce shook himself from his dark musings and said, "I have Gordon's niece, Raya, with me."

"May I ask why, sir?"

"I had no other choice."

He heard Alfred make that small sound that said he didn't completely buy that explanation. Then the butler said, "I am sure that another way would have presented itself had you taken time to examine all the options."

"There wasn't time to consider any of the other options," he replied. "Officers from Gordon's command ambushed me on the roof of the GCPD. I had less than ten seconds in which to make a decision and act."

He chose to leave off the part about the police opening fire on them. It wasn't something he felt Alfred needed to hear him say. Bruce knew he'd inferred it for himself when he murmured, "Oh, dear."

_Oh, dear_, wasn't even the beginning of how bad things were in his opinion. He released a heavy breath, watched it steam in the cold night air for a moment before disappearing like a ghost. The temperature was falling, and fast. He needed to get Raya somewhere warm before they dropped any lower.

"I took her so I can protect her."

"Well," the butler declared in a crisp voice, "I'm certainly glad that you chose to step up and become the young lady's guardian. However, I must say that Blackgate Prison is certainly no place to be taking a child."

"I know that it isn't…" he began but Alfred cut him off.

"Forgive me for interrupting, sir, but if you wish to keep the young lady safe? You won't take her with you to Blackgate."

Leave it to Alfred to voice what he already knew. However...

"I don't have any other choice at the moment. There is no place, and no one who can watch over her while I try to find Captain Gordon."

"Where is Miss Gordon? Surely she can babysit her cousin?"

That was a question he planned to ask Raya once he figured out what to do with her. "I don't know."

It was silent for all of ten seconds.

"There is always the Manor, Master Bruce."

"Do you think it wise to take her there?"

"Is taking the girl with you as you search for her uncle wise, sir?"

Bruce didn't even have to second guess his answer. He merely said, "No." But he followed that with the question that had been plaguing him for the last ten minutes. "What will be the explanation for how you know me?"

"I am employed by the only man in Gotham who believes in Batman and is willing to help him in his quest to protect the people of Gotham from men like the Joker."

It was the truth up to a point, he saw. _That could work_. Before he could agree, though, Alfred spoke again.

"Shall I meet you at the access road leading to Blackgate Prison in thirty minutes, then?"

Bruce's lips shivered with the urge to smile, but he wisely chose not to naysay the butler. What good would it do? Once Alfred Pennyworth had decided something? It was decided. "Yes."

"I shall see you then, sir."

He tapped his earpiece to disconnect the call before he looked at Raya.

"You are going to stay with a friend of mine while I look for your uncle."

Her lower lip trembled and her eyes shimmered with fear. "But I want to go with you."

He shook his head before sternly telling her, "You can't go with me, Raya. Not where I am going. It is too dangerous."

"I'm not afraid of the men who are locked up in Blackgate."

_No, you wouldn't be afraid of them_, he agreed silently. _And why should you be afraid of them when the person you fear is someone that you see on a regular basis? _He told himself that he couldn't give into her. He couldn't take her with him, and that was all there was to it.

"You cannot go, Raya," he rumbled. "And that is final."

Raya responded by burying her face against his throat. _Dealing with the Joker,_ he thought as he ran a hand down her back. _Is definitely much easier. _


	6. Evil Revealed

**A/N**: Hello again m'dears…

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

**S/N**: Just a warning that there is a character death in this chapter.

* * *

><p>Dazed still from the blow to the back of his head, Gordon found himself struggling to hang onto consciousness. He thought he heard the sound of someone coming towards him, but with his ears still ringing from the earlier explosion that had sealed him and his men here inside the sewers he couldn't be sure. Hands quickly searched him, taking both the gun he'd managed to hold onto as well as the holdout pistol he carried in a holster down on his left leg, before rolling him over onto his back.<p>

Playing possum, he cracked open his eyelids just enough so as to make out the blurry figure crouching over him. The musky scent of _Aqua Velva _intermixed with the rank stench of the sewers. A wave of nausea rolled thick and greasy through his stomach. Any minute and he thought he'd throw up the five cups of stale coffee and two-day old doughnut he'd managed to swallow before receiving word of Croc's _unofficial_ release from Blackgate. A foot kicked him in the side, eliciting a soft gasp of pain and interrupting his thoughts.

"Huh, ain't this a kick in the ass," a gravelly voice announced.

"What is?"

"Well, it seems Captain Gordon here is still alive."

There was the sound of heavy footsteps coming towards them. "Wha? He's alive?"

"That's what I just said, yes."

Another figure bent over to peer at him through narrowed eyes. "Hey," the guy said to Gordon. "Youse ain't supposed ta be alive." He scratched his head. "Why are youse alive?"

The other man muttered something Gordon couldn't hear before saying, "Obviously, the bomb that Harkley set didn't kill him as it was supposed to."

"I thought he was supposed to shoot Gordon?"

"Clearly," the man drawled, "he decided not to shoot him."

"Can he do that?"

The man heaved a disgusted sigh. "Obviously, he did decide that. And no," the man added before the other could pose the question, "he wasn't supposed to."

"Boss ain't gonna like that the Captain is still alive."

"Nope," the first goon agreed. "Boss ain't gonna like it."

"So what's we gonna do then?" the second man asked. "We gotsa do something here."

"I know that," the first rasped. "Now, do me a favor and shut up. I need some time to think about what the hell we're gonna do here."

Silence descended. Gordon could hear rats scurrying down the tunnel. After a few seconds, the second man spoke.

"Boss told us we was ta get rid of Gordon's body by dumping it in the river. We can't do that if'n he's alive still."

"Nope," the first thug said with a nod. "We can't get rid of his body if he's still alive."

"And the boss didn't say nothing about _us_ killing him…"

"Would you shut up? The first goon let a vitriolic curse. "I can't think what with you babbling on about shit I already know about!"

Silence again fell for a number of minutes. Gordon could see uncertainty flickering across both of their pug shaped faces. He half imagined they were trying to concoct a story to tell Croc that wouldn't result them in being eaten. It would need to be a plausible enough one that the man, not known for either being patient or accepting of failure, would accept without question. He almost felt sorry for them. _Almost_.

He tried to clear the remainder of the red haze dogging him in order to launch a surprise attack while they were lost in thought, but he just couldn't shake the lingering grogginess. Every time he moved his head so much as a fraction of an inch white hot pain exploded behind his eyes. He finally swallowed a curse and lay still. Finally the first assailant stirred.

"Guess we have no choice," he said on a sigh. "We're gonna have to take him to the boss."

The other let out a sound that resembled a bird getting its neck wrung. "Are you nuts?" he chirped. "Boss ain't gonna like us bringing the Captain down there!"

"What other choice do we got?" He aimed one thick finger at the trembling man. "You pointed out how he told us to _dispose_ of Gordon's body."

"I know I did, but…"

"And the boss never told us that _we_ were supposed to kill him if the tunnel collapse and Harkley didn't."

"So?"

The man grunted as he stood. "So the way I see it? It's the boss who wants the Captain dead and dropped into the river."

"Yeah…" the second goon said slowly. "That's what he tolds us he wanted." The man scratched the tip of his nose. "What's your point about it?"

"My point is that he's the one who told Harkley to kill the squealer. And it ain't up to us to clean up Harkley's screw up. So if the boss wants Gordon dead? He can do it for his own damn self. He ain't paying me to be no murderer anyway."

"Yeah," the second muttered as he got to his feet. "Yeah, youse right. We'se just the cleaners. We ain't the doers." A grin spread across the man's fleshly lips. Gordon thought he looked like a disfigured English Bulldog. "Youse so smart, Rizo."

"Just shut up and gimme a hand with getting him up."

They half-carried, half-dragged Gordon through a labyrinthine-like maze that left him feeling hopelessly, helplessly lost. Despite his less than perfect physical condition, he tried to map what route these two took, but found that he couldn't keep track of all the twists and turns that the men took. Exactly where the hell they were, he didn't know. He just knew by the way that the temperature kept dropping that they had to be very, very far below the surface. He could hear the sound of water from somewhere below. Globe lanterns provided more than enough light for the hooligans to navigate the tunnels by. He was more than a little surprised and quite a bit disturbed when they entered a large chamber a few minutes later. He angled his head to the side and caught a glimpse of the activity going on below.

Two men, their lean and well-muscles bodies bathed in a thick sheen of sweat, were duking it out in the middle of a makeshift ring while a horde of heavily armed baboons hollered and howled from the sidelines. Scowling guards equipped with automatic rifles stood watch as men in hardhats and tool belts hammered boards to a skeletal frame. _An underground city? _His eyebrows crept up a fraction of an inch. Then his attention was snagged by the sight of the ragged men and women clumped in a group around a long, rectangular table. Most of them looked like they hadn't had a bite of food to eat, a full night's sleep, or a shower in days. They all took turns handing over the wads of cash they'd collected to a man in a black suit before they scampered off into the tunnels with brick shaped packages of powder that Gordon knew was not sugar.

This was a subversive society, one Gordon suspected that the GCPD brass and mayor's office knew about, but had turned a blind eye towards. _This is about more than just killing cops_, he realized with a rising feeling of dread. _This is about getting rid of anybody and everybody who could possibly blow the whistle upon this society's existence_. And that, he knew, definitely included him. Branson hadn't set him up just to get even with him for suspending him. He'd set him up in order to get _rid_ of him. Goons in business suits turned to watch as Gordon was hauled by them, only to turn back to the television they'd been watching after a moment. The din from the fight reached a feverish pitch and echoed off the stone walls of the tunnels before receding into the distance.

Gordon began to wonder where exactly his captors were taking him, and just who this _boss_ was that they were taking him to see. It clearly was not Croc as he'd initially believed. They descended another level to where a large plume of water cascaded down into an underground river. A bridge had been fashioned to traverse back and forth across the slow moving water. The cavernous space had been converted into the perfect hub for the importing and exporting of any and all sorts of illegal trade. Dozens of caches that Gordon assumed contained all manner of assault weapons or pharmaceuticals had been stockpiled on the other side of the river. Men were busy unloading even more caches from the water craft that was tied up at the makeshift dock. Along the opposite bank, another water craft was being readied for transport. What goods were filling that ships hold was something that he didn't even want to think about.

Armed guards in full GCPD issued riot gear eyed him with unholy amusement, but allowed them to pass. Gordon felt his temper surge at seeing just how deep the corruption in the GCPD was. Its stretch was long, much longer than even he'd initially anticipated it being. It was then that Gordon spotted the tall, well-dressed man standing by one of the open weapon caches, his back turned towards Gordon and his captors. The light from the hanging lanterns added hints of caramel to the man's neatly cropped dark hair. Gordon didn't have to see his face to know who he was. His name was Matthew Berkeley Jr. and he was Raya's father.

_Father in name only_, he thought hotly. _I'm more of a father to that girl then he has ever been_.

Berkeley glanced back at them with eyes that were nothing but empty, black pools. Not even the Joker had eyes as vacant as this man's. How he had missed the truth of Berkeley's nature for all these years, he didn't know. Clearly, Berkeley was a much better actor than he'd given him credit for being.

"Why have you brought him here?" he asked the two holding him in a silly purr. "Were my instructions not clear?"

The goons shoved Gordon to the ground.

"Your instructions were to get rid of Gordon's _body_," the first man said.

Berkeley turned towards them. He did not look pleased. "Then why didn't you?"

"Cause he ain't a stiff," the second man stammered. He visibly quivered with his fear. Gordon was half surprised that he didn't piss himself. However, the guy showed some moxy when he said, "Youse said ta get rid of him when he was dead. Ya never told us whats ta do if'n he wasn't dead. So we-"

"Panicked," Berkeley finished for him. "And have now cost three lives rather than just the one I wanted dead originally."

The man looked around in obvious confusion. He glanced at his partner, but his partner wisely kept staring at the ground.

"Whatcha mean by _three_ lives, boss?" he questioned dumbly. "I only see-"

"Sh."

Gordon could see how both men were shuddering now. Berkeley's eyes glinted with dark humor and his full mouth twitched. It was a mouth that he saw was cruel when it smiled and which smiled most when was about to be cruel. Then he snapped two of his elegant fingers. The sound reverberated throughout the chamber. Gordon could only watch, horrified, as scaly fingers thick as sausages and tipped with razor-sharp claws crept out of the water and inched towards the second thug. Before the man even had a chance to recognize just how much danger he was in, he was grasped by the ankle and yanked face first into the clear water. His scream was short lived.

"Death," Berkeley announced in a strong, clear voice, "is the price that all who fail me will be made to pay. Do you all understand?"

"Yes, sir," every man in the chamber responded in one loud chorus.

"Excellent." He then glanced at the remaining goon, openly considering what to do with him. The man looked like he was going to throw up. Finally, he nodded in Gordon's direction. "Search him. Then," he said as his lips twisted into a smirk. "I will have Croc kill you."

Gordon felt his heart stop. Not even he had realized just how cold and cruel that Matthew Berkeley was. He was almost as evil as that damn clown, he realized. _Is it little wonder that Raya is so terrified of him_? The goon swallowed visibly. All the blood drained from his face. His fingers white-knuckled Gordon's pilfered revolver. He glanced around nervously, clearly searching for a way out, only to see the riot officers aiming their weapons at him. It was clear that _they_ were not going to end up being Croc's next snack. Escape was not an option. The man held onto the revolver for a few more moments before his shoulders slumped with defeat. A look of mournful resignation came over his face as he handed the gun over to the guard on the left. He then rummaged through Gordon's pockets, taking out his wallet, badge, and some folded sheets of paper that he'd stuffed in the inside pocket of his trench coat and forgotten about.

_The custody papers_, Gordon realized with alarm. _Good God, no. Don't give Berkeley those._..

The hapless and doomed goon turned and handed the items over to Berkeley, who discarded the badge and wallet without even giving them a cursory glance. They were not of any interest to him since he already knew who Gordon was. No, what was of interest to him was the folded up papers. He skimmed the papers quickly, then paused and read through them more slowly. His face darkened with the force of his fury.

"Is this some sort of a joke?" he grated in a harsh voice. "Has my darling wife bequeathed the custody of my daughter to this man?"

No one dared make so much as a peep. All eyes were on Berkeley and the moronic thug who'd ensured he was going to become another snack for Croc after pissing the boss off. Nobody was paying a lick of attention to Gordon as he lay sprawled on the damp concrete, not far from the edge of the bridge. The water churned just a few feet below him. Spray from the waterfall rose up to kiss his already chilled flesh. He cautiously lifted his head to make sure that nobody was paying him any mind. All attention was fixated upon Berkeley.

_This is it_, he told himself sternly. _This is my one and only chance to get out of this situation alive_.

Adrenaline slapped away the red haze that had been holding him in its grasp, and he rolled himself off the bridge, splashing into the water foaming below. Instantly, he sank beneath the surface. He tried to hold his breath, but the freezing temperatures had him gasping. Water gushed into his mouth and filled his nostrils, making him gag. The current caught a hold of him then and slowly carried him away towards salvation. The guards, startled by his decision to feed himself to Croc, cursed and shouted. He could hear feet pounding on the concrete, but the sound was muted by the gallons of water he was under. The riot officers opened fire with the automatic weapons they were holding in their hands. The weapons belched bullets that slammed into the water, tore through flesh and bone and stole what little of his wits he still had about him. Searing bolts of pain clenched him in a fiery grip that had him screaming into the swirling water.

_No_, Gordon thought desperately. _I can't give in... I can't leave my girls alone_.

His world then went bright...

Went dark.


	7. Heroes and Villains

**A/N**: Hello again m'dears…

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

**S/N**: Just a warning that there is a character death in this chapter.

* * *

><p><em>Batman<em>.

The mythical figure striking fear in the hearts of the men (and women) making their living by terrorizing the innocent people Gotham's sinister underbelly.

_Batman_.

The city's Dark Knight, her Silent Guardian, and Caped Crusader.

_Batman_.

He'd become the symbol of justice, swooping from the sky to scoop up one of the criminal sect before they could hurt someone innocent. An image of electric blue eyes inside a shadowed, demonic mask dominated the nightmares of the criminals. He delivered pain with fists like anvils. Scalloped wings, spread across a night sky as he departed as mysteriously as he'd arrived, leaving whomever of the city's filth bound and waiting for Gotham's finest to come pick up.

_Batman_.

He'd absolutely _loathed_ the name at first.

"Well, sir, what did you expect?" he'd asked him the first time that Master Bruce opened the newspaper and saw the name splashed in big, bold letters across the front page. "If you choose to slink about the city dressed like a Chiroptera, you're bound to be called something that relatively reflects that image you are projecting." Then he'd added in a cheerful tone, "You should be thankful they are calling you something as benign as _Batman_."

"You're saying that they could have come up with something _worse_ than Batman?"

There'd been true horror upon Master Bruce's face at the thought that there could have been worse names than Batman.

"A few epithets do come to mind that would be much worse, yes," he'd replied as he gathered up the breakfast dishes. "But propriety forbids me from mentioning them."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

He'd decided not to reply, save for a slight smile as he headed into the kitchen. Master Bruce had been right, of course. He _did_ find a certain _hilarité _in his employer's nocturnal nickname. Not that it was what Bruce had intended when he'd decided to become the city's silent protector. No, he'd never planned on there being a name for his grim alter ego. Quite the contrary had been true, actually.

A name, Master Bruce had felt, would only inhibit and diminish the power and mystery of his other side. He'd imagined giving his alter-ego a name would put a restrictive hand upon the terror he wanted to arouse, and make him less of a threat than he intended to be. He'd planned only on being known as the hand of Vengeance. At the very least he'd anticipated being called the deliverer of Justice. The media had intervened, though, and named him the Batman.

_And so Batman you have become_, he thought as he drove (again) the expressway into the city. Master Bruce embraced the moniker once it became obvious that the name would help inspire the amount of fear and dread that he wanted it too. Sometimes, just the name alone was enough to strike terror in the hearts of the criminals. _And caused a good many of them to do the right thing and turn themselves in_, he thought. Batman's name was everywhere, even on coffee mugs and pennants being sold in the bookstore at Gotham University. Master Bruce had even come to think of his costumed identity as Batman, and applied the Bat-moniker to every gadget and gizmo that he came up with for his alter-ego to use in his war upon crime. However, _Batman_ had certainly not anticipated that his professional life would ever creep into _Bruce Wayne's_ private one.

If not for the seriousness of the events of that night, Alfred would have chuckled over _Batman_ becoming the guardian of a little girl. Master Bruce had spent about as much time with children as Alfred had spelunking. But there'd been a note in his voice when he'd proclaimed he "took her so," he could "protect her" that spoke volumes to the butler. His willingness to take the girl, to do whatever was necessary to keep her safe, even agreeing to bring her to the Manor despite the very real possibility that his identity could be compromised, said the girl had touched him in a way that no other creature- human or animal, had in the last sixteen years. It told him that the chains which had bound his young employer's heart since the night of his parent's murder had finally been allowed to slip free. The doors had been shoved open and the icy darkness he'd hidden himself in for all these years, was slowly melting.

In Alfred's rather long standing (and jaded) opinion?

It was about time.

_And what is responsible for this sudden change in Master Bruce_? he mused as he expertly moved the huge car over into the next lane. Why, it was the night that'd brought him out of the darkness.

Because the night that Master Bruce so trusted, that he so faithfully served, had just given him the best Christmas present ever.

It'd given him the light.

Alfred started to hum _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ as he turned onto the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge.

* * *

><p>A cave-in at the front of the tunnels had completely cut him and two other officers off from the rest of the men who'd followed Captain Gordon down into the sewers. Ethan jumped back to avoid being crushed by the debris, cursing both his late arrival and the ones responsible for the tunnel entrance collapsing. He'd come here to talk with Gordon about Megan, but the bomb had gone off before he could catch up with the Captain. He could hear the startled shouts and curses from the officers who were trapped inside the tunnel shaft. Musty, stale air blew across his face, made him choke. Realizing Gordon and the others were in deep, deep trouble, he pushed aside his own discomfort and began clearing what rubble he could move.<p>

"Come on!" he yelled to the other two officers. "We gotta get them outta there!" Neither man moved, seemingly content to stand there and watch as Ethan grunted and groaned while trying to move a boulder sized piece of cement out of the way. "Come on!" he wheezed. "Give me a hand with this!"

One of the officers merely snorted.

"There's no way we can clear all that debris between the three of us, Tate."

"We can't?" Tate barked at him. "Or you don't want too, Maloni?"

The officer shot him a dirty look, clearly annoyed by the insinuation lacing his tone. "Got something ya wanna say to me, kid?"

"Yeah," Tate replied hotly. "Yeah, I do."

The guy went nose-to-nose with him, eyes flashing in the shadows and meaty hands flexing at his sides. "And what is it that you wanna say? Huh?"

"Try remembering that you're a cop." His lips curled into a sneer. "And do something other than take bribes from Falcone for a change."

"Why, you, little son of a bitch…"

"Oh, I'm a son of a bitch?" Ethan growled. "I'm not the asshole willing to leave fellow cops to die down in the sewers!"

The other officer, a ten-year veteran named Markinson stepped between them, snapping, "Enough!" He reached up to wipe dust and snow from his face. "Fighting ain't going to help us figure out how to get the others outta that damned tunnel."

"Telling ya that there ain't no way to get them out of that tunnel," Maloni grumbled. He shot a look that promised retribution at Ethan before saying, "Not without the proper equipment and enough men to help with clearing the debris out."

"We gotta at least try!" Ethan snarled. "Damn it, Captain Gordon is down there!"

"And I'm telling you that there ain't no way to clear out that tunnel! Not without equipment and men to help us!"

Realizing that he wasn't going to get anywhere with Maloni, Ethan backed away, turned, and stalked over to his squad car. He kicked at a pile of snow and cursed when frozen sludge splattered across the front of his uniform. He couldn't believe Maroni was so corrupt that he'd leave ten good cops to die in the sewers. Cave-in or no cave-in, they needed to do something to help. _Asshole_, he seethed as he slapped a hand upon the hood of his car. Didn't he realize how much danger Gordon and the others were in? There were miles of tunnels beneath Gotham. Miles of tunnels and plenty of places where… Gordon and the others could escape from openings at any one of them.

_All they need to do is pick the right_ _one_...

He was already reaching for the door handle as the idea occurred to him.

* * *

><p>There were not many times in which Waylon Jones could recall being conflicted about what it was that he <em>should<em> do, and what it was that he _wanted_ to do. Tonight, however, was one of those nights where his baser, predatory side came into stark conflict with what little remained of his useless human side. His first instinct as he watched Gordon's body hit the water through eyes narrowed into speculative slits was to slide through the water and attack. Then he heard the sound of bullets as they were fired from the automatic weapons his employer had given the other monkeys who worked for him. He knew Gordon had been hit when he could detect the sweet smell of blood wafting along the slow moving current.

His hunger awoke in an instant.

Yet, Croc found himself hesitating. Why that was, he couldn't say. Part of him suspected it was because of the charged sensation coursing throughout his body. An electrical current was turning the wheels in his brain. Slowly, a thought took root. If he allowed Gordon to live, he could reach the surface. If he reached the surface, he'd tell Batman about this underground city. If Batman knew about this underground city then he would be compelled to come and investigate. He'd be in his lair, in his grasp once he was down here.

_And I will be able to have my vengeance once and for all upon the Batman,_ he thought as his massive maw crept up into a wicked smile.

* * *

><p>Gordon's blood made foamy rosettes dance on the surface of the water. The current cleared them away as quickly as it bore Gordon's body out of sight. Berkeley gazed down into the slow moving river, his eyes pensive and his mood darker than his suit jacket. His goon, who'd been idiotic enough to bring Gordon down here to their underground base, was watching the waters, as well.<p>

"He's dead," the fool stated in a voiced tinged by relief. As if that was the end of the problem. It was like the idiot believed that he was going to excuse his bringing Gordon down here. There was no way he was going to forgive this man for his error. Oh, no. Even the Captain's death didn't nullify this man's mistake. "He has to be." The smell of cordite still lingered upon the stale air. "No way Gordon was able to survive being shot all to hell. Even if he has," the man paused, considered. "Well, Croc will finish him off."

Berkeley studied the man silently as he tucked the custody papers into the inside pocket of his evening coat. He wanted to forget about the papers existence, but that was an almost impossible task considering the humiliation the papers would cost him if they ever became public knowledge. He'd be a laughingstock if any of his clients discovered that his wife had aided a _Captain _of the GCPD in applying for (and getting) immediate custody of _his_ daughter. Just who did they think they were? Did they not realize that she _belonged_ to him? That she was his to do with as he wished?

He really hadn't thought Ellen smart enough, much less daring enough to make such a move against him. He'd certainly not thought the bitch brave enough, or bold enough to take his daughter away from him. She knew the consequences of defiance. He'd made them perfectly clear. She knew that _nobody_ took away his possessions. _I'll make Gordon pay for this humiliation_, he vowed silently as his lips peeled back in a snarl. For now, he'd deal with his current problem.

"You say Gordon has to be dead," he said to the terrified man in a dark purr. "And yet you have no physical proof to support your claim. Tell me why I should believe you."

"Th-there's no way to prove that he's dead," the man stammered.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"The wa-water… it flows out to any number of outflows. We'd never be able to find which one Gordon's body went down."

Berkeley considered the _problem_. He turned to the guard on his left. Davidson had entered his employ about a year before he'd married his feckless Ellen. He was his inside man at the GCPD, the one who told him about when his safe houses were going to be raided by Gordon and his rat squad, the one who made the arrests of others in his employ disappear. Davidson had solved many little problems for him over the years. He'd proven himself to be a loyal and trusted ally. That was why he asked him one question.

"What do you say that Rizo should do?"

Davidson's lips curled into a sneer behind the visor of his helmet. "I say Rizo should follow Gordon's body to wherever it may end up and make sure that he is, indeed, as dead as he thinks he is."

Berkeley nodded. It was exactly what he was thinking he should do as well.

"Give me your GPS."

Davidson handed it to him without question, and Berkeley dropped it into the shaking Rizo's pants pocket. He patted the unit to make sure that it was secure. Then he smiled at Rizo.

"Follow him," he said. "And make sure he's dead."

"Fo-follow him?" the man squawked. "H-how do y-you want me to follow him?"

Berkeley picked up Gordon's service revolver from where Davidson had set it on a crate and shot the man between the eyes. His body dropped to the floor with only the barest sound. The other guard, a man named Smith, kicked it off the bridge and watched as it topped into the water. The current took possession of the body and carried it off in the same direction it had carried Gordon's just moments before. Berkeley turned towards Smith.

"Follow him," he commanded. "Make sure that Gordon is dead."

He didn't have to clarify what he meant. Smith knew. He nodded and immediately left to carry out his orders. Berkeley reached into his jacket for a cigar while silently contemplating his next course of action. His fingers brushed against Gordon's papers. _Ah, yes, what to do about these papers._ He contemplated how he could salvage this mess as he drew out a Black Dragon. His whore-bitch wife was dead, and Gordon, if he wasn't already, soon would be, too. Having his daughter die under mysterious circumstances at the same time as her uncle and mother would cast the shadow of suspicion even more upon him. To throw off the remaining bloodhounds in Gordon's command he'd have to pretend to be the grieving husband. _And that means the little brat will have to live_, he thought as he lit the cigar.

He looked at Davidson. "It would seem that my plans for my daughter have changed," he said. "It appears that I am going to need to keep the little brat around for a little while longer."

"Oh, yeah?" Davidson asked. "And why's that?"

"I will need her to perfect my image of the grieving husband."

Davidson nodded. "Yanno Branson ain't gonna like this any. He wants the brat."

"I want you to go and take care of Branson. His… _perversions_ are now a liability to our organization."

"What about his men? You want me to take care of them as well?"

"Yes." A smile spread over his face. It was one Ellen would have recognized were she there. One she would have feared. "Yes, I do."

Davidson wasn't Ellen Rae-Kean Berkeley, however. He merely grunted and said, "As you wish."


	8. Christmas Morning

**A/N**: Hello again m'dears…

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

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><p>The nuclear plant somehow looked even uglier than it had just a few hours ago. Ethan pulled up at the gate and flashed a grim smile at the puzzled security guard.<p>

"Youse forget something, Officer Tate?"

"I have a feeling that my Captain might wash up in the same basin that the vic from earlier did."

"Your Captain?" The guard scratched his nose. "Now why's he gonna wash up in the same basin as that girl did?"

"There was a collapse at the sewer entrance over by the steel mill," he patiently explained. "It trapped a handful of officers in the tunnels below the city. I think my Captain will follow the tunnels to the first exit that he can find. And that is here at the basin."

The guard just studied him for a moment before letting him through. Renaldo was back at the GCPD, filling out all the required paperwork and handling all those messy details that Ethan wasn't interested in. Going with his gut he parked his patrol car and sprinted over to the basin. It was a long shot, he knew that it was. But he had to take the chance that his hunch was right. He told himself that taking a proactive approach to finding his trapped brethren was definitely better than standing around and doing nothing. He dreaded the possibility that he'd end up being wrong, that he'd either find Gordon's body in the same condition as Megan's, or not find him at all. No, he had to believe that he'd find Gordon and the others alive. They would make it out of the tunnels. The city, as well as their families needed them.

A sliver of moonlight speckled the water that flowed beneath the metal grate. Bracing himself for whatever he might find, Ethan slowly approached the basin. He thought he spotted something pale poking up briefly through the metal grille before being covered up by a mountain of icy sludge. Something silver glinted as the thin beam of his flashlight caressed it.

_Is that a watch?_

He ran forward and thrust his hand down into the basin, cursing when the frigid waters made his fingers go instantly numb. He groped around frantically, his heart slamming against his ribcage. His fingers bumped against what felt like a hand. _Yes_. He'd found someone! But... who was it? There were about ten officers, plus Gordon who could have washed up here. Grunting and straining with the effort, he tugged and pulled the man up through the opening in the grate. Soon as his head and shoulders were free, he hauled him out onto the concrete.

He knew it was Gordon as soon as he saw the shock of russet colored hair plastered to his head and face. The Captain's breathing was ragged, his face ash gray, and his flesh like ice. He looked like he was only barely clinging to life. Gordon's glasses were missing and there were small scratches on his hands and face that said he'd had a hard journey here. His heart stopped when he saw the cherry swirls forming in the puddle beneath the Captain's body. He couldn't tell where exactly Gordon had been shot, but it had been more than once by his guess. Instantly, he radioed for help.

"10-13, 10-13," he spoke into his shoulder radio. "I have an officer down. Requesting help and a bus at the nuclear plant." He paused to take a breath. "I repeat, I have an officer down. Requesting help and a bus at the nuclear plant."

It took him a moment before he realized that Gordon had woke up and was speaking.

"Raya," he croaked, almost too softly for Ethan to make out. "Berkeley. Raya. Needs a guardian. Find Batman..." he broke off as a coughing fit seized control. Then he wheezed, "Berkeley. Find Batman..."

Ethan leaned in close, trying to make out what it was that the critically injured man was babbling about.

"Berkeley. Find Batman," he heard Gordon whisper again. "Raya needs a guardian. Ask..." he begged, his fingers curling into Ethan's top. "Ask him. Ask him to be her guardian."

Ethan felt torn between fear and confusion. Gordon wanted him to find... _Batman_? And he wanted him to ask the man to become the _guardian_ of his _niece_, Raya?

_What the hell is going on here_?

For a moment, just one, Ethan had the feeling that he really didn't want to find out the answer to that question.

* * *

><p>Alfred understood just how his employer had become so emotionally tied to this young girl the moment he looked into her sweet face and saw the wealth of emotions haunting those big, green eyes. Master Bruce believed that someone had hurt Raya <em>Kean<em> (she'd made it perfectly clear that she did not wish to be addressed by the name _Berkeley_) and badly. Alfred suspected things went much, much deeper than that. He'd seen the things burning in her eyes in the eyes of a nine-year-old boy after he witnessed his parents being murdered. A distant memory rose from the past.

_The young detective, dressed in a rumpled pair of navy trousers, matching vest and a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, knelt in front of the little boy sitting alone in the police station. He wrapped a faded tan overcoat around the boy's trembling shoulders, and tried to offer what little comfort he could to the hollow-eyed and pale faced boy. _

_"Is there anything I can get you, son? A soda or something?" _

_The offer was greeted with silence. _

_"I know that this is difficult," the detective said gently. "And that you aren't feeling like talking at the moment, but I need to ask you a few questions about what happened tonight. It's the only way that we'll find the man who did this."_

_The boy let out a shuddering breath and lifted ravaged eyes to the detective's kindly compassionate ones._

_"Wh-why'd he do it, detective?" he sobbed quietly. "Why?" _

_The detective heaved a world-weary sigh and set his hands upon the boys stooped shoulders. "I dunno why he did it," he admitted quietly. "It's this city. There's something wrong with it. And listen, son, just call me Jim."_

_Now isn't it ironic_, he thought as the memory faded, _that the boy who'd been comforted and protected by a young Jim Gordon is now the young man doing the comforting and protecting for that detective's own family_?

"But I want to go with you," he heard Raya say. "_Please_, can't I go with you? I won't get in the way, I swear!"

He watched Batman crouch so that he was eye-level with the girl. "You can't go with me to Blackgate," he told her firmly. "It's too dangerous."

"But I'm not afraid..."

"The answer is no, Raya."

Alfred chose to intervene when he saw Raya's expression had become set in the same way that Master Bruce's did whenever he'd taken hold of a notion and refused to let it go.

"Batman has a much more important job for you to do, Miss Raya," he told her in a conspiratorial tone. "Something that only _you_ can do for him, in fact."

"He has an important job for me?" There was a veiled note of interest intermingled with suspicion in her voice, on her face. Alfred felt his lips twitching, but maintained his composure. She quickly glanced between the two men, studying their faces intently for signs of duplicity. "What is it he wants me to do?"

"I want you to help Mr. Pennyworth with taking care of Mr. Wayne."

"What happened to Mr. Wayne?"

"He got injured while skiing in Aspen."

Alfred flinched as the lies just tripped one-by-one off Bruce's lips. Even though he knew lying to her was be necessary in order to prevent her from figuring out Master Bruce and Batman were the same man, it still bothered him to see how easily he could concoct a believable story.

"What can I do to help Mr. Wayne feel better?"

"He likes playing checkers or chess when he's stuck in bed, but I'm thinking he would love it if you'd _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland _to him." Batman tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Will you do that for me?"

She mulled the request over for a moment before she finally nodded. "Yes," she said in a solemn voice. "I will do that for you."

"Thank you. Now," he said gently. "Let's go. It's late and you should be in bed."

"'Kay."

Batman stood and escorted her to the car. Alfred opened the door for her. Before Raya climbed inside, she turned and wrapped her arms around his waist. Despite his every intention, Alfred felt tears, pure sentiment, as he watched Master Bruce reach up to run a gloved hand over her downy curls.

"Merry Christmas, Batman," she whispered before she climbed into the backseat.

"Merry Christmas, imp," he said quietly. Then he looked at Alfred and told him in a voice that was like tempered steel, "Get her back to the Manor, Alfred."

"Of course, sir."

"And Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"Nobody but you, me and Gordon are allowed anywhere near her. Is that understood?"

Alfred inclined his head. "Perfectly, sir."

Master Bruce was gone before Alfred even finished his sentence.

* * *

><p>A few minutes later, driving through the dark city streets, Alfred guided the Rolls-Royce up the Sycamore Street ramp and onto the freeway.<p>

"Do you think that I will see Batman again, Mr. Pennyworth?"

The voice that came from the darkness of the backseat was barely a whisper. Alfred glanced in the rear view mirror; saw those jade eyes glowing from the shadows. "You will see him again, Miss," he assured her. "When you least expect it, you will see Batman again."

Raya nodded, satisfied by the answer, and settled back in her seat. They left the city a few minutes later and proceeded along a country lane that was more than passingly familiar to her. She saw elm trees and oaks had been bedecked in lights that twinkled merrily. Many of them had a thick blanket of snow weighing down their bony branches. Every half mile or so, they drove past a cluster of buildings that included a big house.

There was only one house that concerned her, however: the Berkeley Estate. Her family estate was in the north end of Gotham's Bristol District, an extravagant structure of white brick built along the same Gothic architectural style as Wayne Manor and which was definitely as old. The property was surrounded by a mammoth sized wrought-iron fence topped with razor-sharp spear points, beyond which stretched miles of neatly tended green lawn and majestic oak trees which dated back to this part of the country's early colonization. She averted her eyes when they drove by the entrance leading up to the estate and swallowed the bile that surged into her throat when she spied the familiar white spires stabbing at the sky.

Alfred slowed the car and must have pressed a button on the steering wheel because she saw the gates that fronted Wayne Manor swing open. The butler drove past the guesthouse and up a curved driveway to the mansion. The Manor looked like a golden palace, alight with a thousand tiny lights draped across its roof, wrapped around its stately columns, and strung from every limb of every tree that surrounded the property. Every light had been turned on within the huge fortress and cast dancing shadows upon the pristine snow covering the driveway. It was a whimsical, fantastical illusion that belied the ever-present shroud that Raya internally sensed hung over the house. She stepped from the car after Alfred opened the door and stood staring up at the huge manor in stupefied awe.

"Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss Raya," he said warmly before turning to go inside. After only a minute more of standing there, she followed and was instantly enveloped by a sense of having finally come _home_.

* * *

><p>Ethan had been pacing on the roof of police headquarters for about five minutes when he saw the piece of paper plastered to the front of the searchlight. Realizing it for what it was (an answer to his prayers), he reached over and flipped the spotlight on (while thanking whomever the genius was for creating such a bat-shaped signal). A beam shot into the sky that smacked the night out of its way in order to stamp that symbol upon the smooth velvet. It took him thirty minutes before he realized he was no longer standing on that rooftop alone. He slowly turned to look at the cowled man standing there with his cape fluttering behind him in the gentle breeze blowing off the bay. Batman was watching him with eyes that were burning, blistering blue. Ethan was half surprised when his clothes didn't begin to smolder from the heat in that glare.<p>

"So..." he said slowly. "You _are_ real."

"Why have you called me here?" His voice was low, dark, and menacing-like the purr of a jungle cat right before it attacked.

Ethan decided to get right to the point.

"Captain Gordon has been shot."

Batman visibly stiffened. "What-"

"He was looking for Killer Croc in the sewers when he got caught in an explosion and somehow shot," Ethan stated, cutting him off. "When I pulled him out at the nuclear plant, he was near dead and babbling on about finding you."

Batman maintained a neutral expression.

"Why?" he asked. "Why was Gordon asking you to find me?"

"I don't really know the answer to that question," Ethan admitted. "All he kept saying was that he wanted me to "find Batman," that his niece, Raya, "needs a guardian," and that I am to "ask" you to be that guardian."

"No." Batman shook his head.

"No?"

"I'm not capable of being his niece's guardian. I'm sorry."

Ethan felt a burst of frustration rise up to choke him. "Look, Gordon needs your help." He took a deep breath before going on. "He needs Batman to protect his niece from whomever it is that has put him in the hospital."

_There_, he thought. _I said it_.

Now it was up to Batman to decide whether he was going to help or not. He didn't have to wait long for an answer.

"What hospital is Gordon in?"

Ethan released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"He's in Gotham General." He turned towards the spotlight. "Listen, I know that you don't have much faith in those who work for the GCPD, and after tonight, you really don't have much reason to believe in us. But we're not all corrupt. Some of us actually believe in the vow we took about serving and protecting the citizens of this city. We believe in the same things you do, and are fighting for the same things you are. We want to clean up Gotham and," he said as he slowly turned back. "We want to stop guys like the Joker and the Penguin from destroying the city."

Ethan found he was talking to himself, however. Batman was gone and he suspected he'd been gone for a number of minutes.

"Huh." There was a tinge of awe now in his voice, upon his face. "He really _does_ move like the wind."


	9. A Christmas Caller

**A/N**: Hello again m'dears…

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

* * *

><p>The nuclear plant somehow looked even uglier than it had just a few hours ago. Ethan pulled up at the gate and flashed a grim smile at the puzzled security guard.<p>

"Youse forget something, Officer Tate?"

"I have a feeling that my Captain might wash up in the same basin that the Vic did."

"Your Captain?" The guard scratched his nose. "Now why's he gonna wash up in the same basin as that girl did?"

"There was a collapse at the sewer entrance over by the steel mill," he patiently explained. "It trapped a handful of officers in the tunnels below the city. I think my Captain will follow the tunnels to the first exit that he can find. And that is here at the basin."

The guard just studied him for a moment before letting him through. Renaldo was back at the GCPD, filling out all the required paperwork and handling all those messy details that Tate wasn't interested in. Going with his guy, he parked his patrol car and sprinted over to the basin. It was a long shot, he knew that it was. But he had to take the chance that his hunch was right. He told himself that taking a proactive approach to finding his trapped brethren was definitely better than standing around and doing nothing. He dreaded the possibility that he'd end up being wrong, that he'd either find Gordon's body in the same condition as Megan's, or not find him at all. No, he had to believe that he'd find Gordon and the others alive. They would make it out of the tunnels. The city, as well as their families needed them.

A sliver of moonlight speckled the water that flowed beneath the metal grate. Bracing himself for whatever he might find, Ethan slowly approached the basin. He thought he spotted something pale poking up briefly through the metal grille before being covered up by a mountain of icy sludge. Something silver glinted as the thin beam of his flashlight caressed it.

_Is that a watch?_

He ran forward and thrust his hand down into the basin, cursing when the frigid waters made his fingers go instantly numb. He groped around frantically, his heart slamming against his ribcage, until his fingers bumped against what felt like a hand. _Yes_. He'd found someone! But... who was it? There was about ten officers, plus Gordon that could have washed up here. Grunting and straining with the extreme effort, he tugged and pulled the man up through the opening in the grate. Soon as his head and shoulders were free, he hauled him out onto the concrete.

He knew it was Gordon as soon as he saw the shock of russet colored hair plastered to his head and face. The Captain's breathing was ragged, his face ash gray, and his flesh like ice. He looked like he was only barely clinging to life. Gordon's glasses were missing and there were small scratches on his hands and face that said he'd had a hard journey here. His heart stopped when he saw the cherry swirls forming in the puddle beneath the Captain's body. He couldn't tell where exactly Gordon had been shot, but it had been more than once by his guess. Instantly, he radioed for help.

"10-13, 10-13," he spoke into his shoulder radio. "I have an officer down. Requesting help and a bus at the nuclear plant." He paused to take a breath. "I repeat, I have an officer down. Requesting help and a bus at the nuclear plant."

It took him a moment before he realized that Gordon had woke up and was speaking.

"Raya," he croaked, almost too softly for Ethan to make out. "Berkeley. Raya. Needs a guardian. Find Batman..." he broke off as a coughing fit seized control. Then he wheezed, "Berkeley. Find Batman..."

Ethan leaned in close, trying to make out what it was that the critically injured man was babbling about.

"Berkeley. Find Batman," he heard Gordon whisper again. "Raya needs a guardian. Ask..." he begged, his fingers curling into Ethan's top. "Ask him. Ask him to be her guardian."

Ethan felt torn between fear and confusion. Gordon wanted him to find... _Batman_? And he wanted him to ask the man to become the _guardian_ of his _niece_, Raya?

_What the hell is going on here_?

For a moment, just one, Ethan had the feeling that he really didn't want to find out the answer to that question.

* * *

><p>Alfred understood just how his employer had become so emotionally tied to this young girl the moment he looked into her sweet face and saw the wealth of emotions haunting those big, green eyes. Master Bruce believed that someone had hurt Raya <em>Kean<em> (she'd made it perfectly clear that she did not wish to be addressed by the name _Berkeley_) and badly. Alfred suspected things went much, much deeper than that. He'd seen the things burning in her eyes in the eyes of a nine-year-old boy after he witnessed his parents being murdered. A distant memory rose from the past.

_The young detective, dressed in a rumpled pair of navy trousers, matching vest and a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, knelt in front of the little boy sitting alone in the police station. He wrapped a faded tan overcoat around the boy's trembling shoulders, and tried to offer what little comfort he could to the hollow-eyed and pale faced boy. _

_"Is there anything I can get you, son? A soda or something?" _

_The offer was greeted with silence. _

_"I know that this is difficult," the detective said gently. "And that you aren't feeling like talking at the moment, but I need to ask you a few questions about what happened tonight. It's the only way that we'll find the man who did this."_

_The boy let out a shuddering breath and lifted ravaged eyes to the detective's kindly compassionate ones._

_"Wh-why'd he do it, detective?" he sobbed quietly. "Why?" _

_The detective heaved a world-weary sigh and set his hands upon the boys stooped shoulders. "I dunno why he did it," he admitted quietly. "It's this city. There's something wrong with it. And listen, son, just call me Jim."_

_Now isn't it ironic_, he thought as the memory faded, _that the boy who'd been comforted and protected by a young Jim Gordon is now the young man doing the comforting and protecting for that detective's own family_?

"But I want to go with you," he heard Raya say. "_Please_, can't I go with you? I won't get in the way, I swear!"

He watched Batman crouch so that he was eye-level with the girl. "You can't go with me to Blackgate," he told her firmly. "It's too dangerous."

"But I'm not afraid..."

"The answer is no, Raya."

Alfred chose to intervene when he saw Raya's expression had become set in the same way that Master Bruce's did whenever he'd taken hold of a notion and refused to let it go.

"Batman has a much more important job for you to do, Miss Raya," he told her in a conspiratorial tone. "Something that only _you_ can do for him, in fact."

"He has an important job for me?" There was a veiled note of interest intermingled with suspicion in her voice, on her face. Alfred felt his lips twitching, but maintained his composure. She quickly glanced between the two men, studying their faces intently for signs of duplicity. "What is it he wants me to do?"

"I want you to help Mr. Pennyworth with taking care of Mr. Wayne."

"What happened to Mr. Wayne?"

"He got injured while skiing in Aspen."

Alfred flinched as the lies just tripped one-by-one off Bruce's lips. Even though he knew lying to her was be necessary in order to prevent her from figuring out Master Bruce and Batman were the same man, it still bothered him to see how easily he could concoct a believable story.

"What can I do to help Mr. Wayne feel better?"

"He likes playing checkers or chess when he's stuck in bed, but I'm thinking he would love it if you'd _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland _to him." Batman tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Will you do that for me?"

She mulled the request over for a moment before she finally nodded. "Yes," she said in a solemn voice. "I will do that for you."

"Thank you. Now, come on, it's late and you should be in bed."

"'Kay."

Batman stood and escorted her to the car. Alfred opened the door for her. Before Raya climbed inside, she turned and wrapped her arms around his waist. Despite his every intention, Alfred felt tears, pure sentiment, well as he watched Master Bruce reach up to run a gloved hand over her downy curls.

"Merry Christmas, Batman," she whispered before she climbed into the backseat.

"Merry Christmas, imp," he said quietly. Then he looked at Alfred and told him in a voice that was like tempered steel, "Get her back to the Manor, Alfred."

"Of course, sir."

"And Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"Nobody but you, me and Gordon are allowed anywhere near her. Is that understood?"

Alfred inclined his head. "Perfectly, sir."

Master Bruce was gone before Alfred even finished his sentence.

* * *

><p>A few minutes later, driving through the dark city streets, Alfred guided the Rolls-Royce up the Sycamore Street ramp and onto the freeway.<p>

"Do you think that I will see Batman again, Mr. Pennyworth?"

The voice that came from the darkness of the backseat was barely a whisper. Alfred glanced in the rear view mirror; saw those jade eyes glowing from the shadows. "You will see him again, Miss," he assured her. "When you least expect it, you will see Batman again."

Raya nodded, satisfied by the answer, and settled back in her seat. They left the city a few minutes later and proceeded along a country lane that was more than passingly familiar to her. She saw elm trees and oaks had been bedecked in lights that twinkled merrily. Many of them had a thick blanket of snow weighing down their bony branches. Every half mile or so, they drove past a cluster of buildings that included a big house. There was only one house that concerned her, however: the Berkeley Estate. Her family estate was in the north end of Gotham's Bristol District, an extravagant structure of white brick built along the same Gothic architectural style as Wayne Manor and which was definitely as old. The property was surrounded by a mammoth sized wrought-iron fence topped with razor-sharp spear points, beyond which stretched miles of neatly tended green lawn and majestic oak trees which dated back to this part of the country's early colonization. She averted her eyes when they drove by the entrance leading up to the estate and swallowed the bile that surged into her throat when she spied the familiar white spires stabbing at the sky.

Alfred slowed the car and must have pressed a button on the steering wheel because she saw the gates that fronted Wayne Manor swing open. The butler drove past the guesthouse and up a curved driveway to the mansion. The Manor looked like a golden palace, alight with a thousand tiny lights draped across its roof, wrapped around its stately columns, and strung from every limb of every tree that surrounded the property. Every light had been turned on within the huge fortress and cast dancing shadows upon the pristine snow covering the driveway. It was a whimsical, fantastical illusion that belied the ever-present shroud that Raya internally sensed hung over the house. She stepped from the car after Alfred opened the door and stood staring up at the huge manor in stupefied awe.

"Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss Raya," he said warmly before turning to go inside. After only a minute more of standing there, she followed and was instantly enveloped by a sense of having finally come _home_.

* * *

><p>Ethan had been pacing on the roof of police headquarters for about five minutes when he saw the piece of paper plastered to the front of the searchlight. Realizing it for what it was (an answer to his prayers), he reached over and flipped the spotlight on (while thanking whomever the genius was for creating such a bat-shaped signal). A beam shot into the sky that smacked the night out of its way in order to stamp that symbol upon the smooth velvet. It took him thirty minutes before he realized he was no longer standing on that rooftop alone. He slowly turned to look at the cowled man standing there with his cape fluttering behind him in the gentle breeze blowing off the bay. Batman was watching him with eyes that were burning, blistering blue. Ethan was half surprised when his clothes didn't begin to smolder from the heat in that glare.<p>

"So..." he said slowly. "You _are_ real."

"Why have you called me here?" His voice was low, dark, and menacing-like the purr of a jungle cat right before it attacked.

Ethan decided to get right to the point.

"Captain Gordon has been shot."

Batman visibly stiffened. "What-"

"He was looking for Killer Croc in the sewers when he got caught in an explosion and somehow shot," Ethan stated, cutting him off. "When I pulled him out at the nuclear plant, he was near dead and babbling on about finding you."

Batman maintained a neutral expression.

"Why?" he asked. "Why was Gordon asking you to find me?"

"I don't really know the answer to that question," Ethan admitted. "All he kept saying was that he wanted me to "find Batman," that his niece, Raya, "needs a guardian," and that I am to "ask" you to be that guardian."

"No." Batman shook his head.

"No?"

"I'm not capable of being his niece's guardian. I'm sorry."

Ethan felt a burst of frustration rise up to choke him. "Look, Gordon needs your help." He took a deep breath before going on. "He needs Batman to protect his niece from whomever it is that has put him in the hospital."

_There_, he thought. _I said it_.

Now it was up to Batman to decide whether he was going to help or not. He didn't have to wait long for an answer.

"What hospital is Gordon in?"

Ethan released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"He's in Gotham General." He turned towards the spotlight. "Listen, I know that you don't have much faith in those who work for the GCPD, and after tonight, you really don't have much reason to believe in us. But we're not all corrupt. Some of us actually believe in the vow we took about serving and protecting the citizens of this city. We believe in the same things you do, and are fighting for the same things you are. We want to clean up Gotham and," he said as he slowly turned back. "We want to stop guys like the Joker and the Penguin from destroying the city."

Ethan found he was talking to himself, however. Batman was gone and he suspected he'd been gone for a number of minutes.

"Huh." There was a tinge of awe now in his voice, upon his face. "He really _does_ move like the wind."


	10. Christmas Guardian

**A/N**: Hello again m'dears…

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

* * *

><p>Nikolai Rolonov had only been to Wayne Manor once before. It had been his first night on the job and there'd been a disturbance on the property that he and his then partner, an old war dog named Bryant had responded to. As he stepped from his cruiser he stared up at the mammoth house, eyes blinking wide at the sight laid out before him. The Manor's stone walls and towers made it look more like a castle than a stately mansion in Gotham's illustrious Bristol District. Dozens of high lancet windows and stone spires merely added to the grandeur. Twinkling lights had been wrapped around elegant marble columns and threaded along the parapet that circled the roof. All that was needed was a dragon guarding the Prince in the corner tower for the fairytale image to be complete.<p>

It was hard to believe that this house was home for just one guy, even if that one guy just happened to be the infamous Bruce Wayne. The entire criminal population of Blackgate could be moved into the house, and there'd still be plenty of room for the dozens of guards and staff needed to control the prisoners. A gentleman with salt and pepper hair and warm brown eyes greeted him after he knocked on the door. Rolonov recognized him instantly as Wayne's butler, Alfred Pennyworth. The man had been a servant for the family since before Wayne had been born.

"May I help you with something, detective?" the butler asked in a politely dignified tone.

"Yes, I was told at the hospital by Captain Gordon that his niece, Raya, was here, that she was going to be staying here while he's recuperating from his injuries." He paused to study the older man's reaction to that bit of information, but his expression didn't waver even a smidgen. His teeth gnashing, he said, "Well, something has happened and I've come to take Miss Berkeley to the hospital."

One dark brow lifted, was the only outward change in the man's physical appearance. "And may I ask just what has happened that would necessitate waking the young miss up from a sound sleep?"

"There have been complications and Captain Gordon's doctors are not sure he is going to survive the rest of the night. They said that if he has any family close that they should come now to say their goodbyes."

It was all a lie, of course. Rolonov had never been to the hospital, he didn't know the Captain's exact physical condition, nor had he talked with the bastard about the little brat. How he knew that the girl had been brought here to Wayne Manor was because he'd seen Batman put her into Wayne's fancy car on the traffic cameras. It wasn't a huge leap from there to figure out just where they were shipping the brat off too.

"I'm sorry," Alfred said kindly. However, there was a note of tempered steel in the butlers voice that let Rolonov know he was dead serious. "But Miss Kean was left in the care of Master Wayne. You would need to get his permission before I can allow you to take her with you."

Rolonov had to swallow back the vitriolic curse that sprang to his lips at the implication inside the older man's words. "And I take it that Wayne is indisposed and unable to come and give me his permission to take the girl to the hospital."

Alfred smiled cordially. "That would be correct, sir."

"Well," Rolonov tried his damnedest to keep his annoyance from seeping into his voice. "What if I go to get a warrant to search the premises, in the investigation of the potential kidnapping and endangerment of a minor? Nobody but me knows that Gordon has given his permission for his niece to stay here while he recovers. And I'm sure that GCPS and a judge will both question exactly why Captain Gordon would have asked Mister Wayne to take care of his niece when her own father is more than capable of doing so."

Alfred frowned at the slippery insinuation in Rolono's tone, but other than giving him a disdainful look, his face betrayed nothing about what he felt in regards to his threat to involve a judge or Child Services in the situation. Rolonov figured the man would cave and turn the bitch over to him in order to spare Wayne the humiliation, but then he drew himself fully erect, sniffed, and said, "Return with your warrant and Gotham Child Protective Services if you think it necessary, Detective. But you will _not_ be taking the girl with you."

And then he promptly shut the door in Rolonov's stunned face.

* * *

><p>Alfred turned after he closed the door and found Raya watching from the entryway as the patrol car sped down the drive. The twitch of the tiny hand gripping the gleaming railing was the only outward sign of her anxious state. She was more than just passingly familiar with the detective, of that he was certain. The question, though, was how had she become so familiar with the man? <em>And just how deep does the familiarity go<em>? Alfred suspected it went well beyond his being one of the men in Captain Gordon's command. He decided to ask her.

"You are familiar with the man who was here, aren't you, Miss Raya?" he asked gently. "This Detective Rolonov?"

Just hearing the man's name spoke aloud caused the small girl to start trembling and her face to lose what little color it had. Not that the butler could blame her for her reaction. He'd been chilled to the marrow when he'd initially stared into the man's steel gray eyes. However, he was a fully grow man capable of at least defending himself against a man the detectives size and physical strength.

"He is one of the men under Uncle Jim's command," she said only.

Alfred knew that much from his brief conversation with the man. It was time to switch tactics. "Why were you staying with Captain Gordon instead of your mother and father?" he asked. Long before he'd entered the service of Thomas Wayne, he'd worked for British Intelligence. His skills at garnering information still came in handy. Most especially now when he needed to find out just what it was that Master Bruce had gotten himself involved in.

He saw he'd caught the girl off guard. Those jewel toned eyes flickered for only the briefest of seconds with something other than that unnatural poise she had. For a moment, the masque, the same one that Master Bruce had cultivated for his social image, slipped. The crack was enough that it allowed him a moment's glimpse of every thought and emotion careening around inside her tiny body. Grief as fresh as the snow lining the driveway haunted her eyes, crashed over her face and stained her cheeks.

It was the same look that had been on Master Bruce's face the night his mother and father were murdered.

_Oh, my dear child_, Alfred thought as the truth hammered home. He took a step towards the stairs, but Miss Raya turned and headed into what was clearly her favorite room of the manor, the library. He followed, watching as she settled on a window bench with a book she'd selected. After a few minutes he said, "I thought to make a cup of hot tea."

She continued staring at the book she held.

"Yes, well," he said, turning. "I shall leave you to your thoughts then."

He'd barely stepped out into the hall when she suddenly decided to speak.

"It's all my fault, Mr. Pennyworth," she said, so softly that Alfred didn't think he'd heard her at first. "She's dead and it's all my fault."

"Who is dead, Miss?"

Alfred suspected he already knew the answer long before he asked the question.

"Mama." She lifted hollow-eyes to his. "Mama's dead. And it's all my fault."

It wasn't often that something caught him by surprise. Truth be told, there wasn't much that could rattle him. He had seen or heard or done more in his life than most people twice his age. However, this was one of those times where shock reached out and took hold of him, keeping him immobile in one icy fist. When he finally was able to find his voice, he said, "How do you..."

"I was there. I saw it." She looked away. "I watched her die."

"Miss..."

"She's dead, Mr. Pennyworth," she repeated, her voice hitching on a sob. "And it's all my fault."

Alfred hurried across the room and knelt in front of her. "Oh, no, Miss Raya. It's not your fault..."

"It is!" she insisted. "I _made_ Mama tell Uncle Jim about Father meeting with Black Mask about the guns in the basement! I made her tell him about the abuse! I made her tell him that I wanted to live with him and not them. And I made her sign the custody papers after telling the judge I didn't wanna be their daughter anymore!" The words came faster and faster now that the dam had broken, almost tripping over themselves as they came pouring out of her mouth. "Now, she's dead and it's all my fault!"

Alfred took both of her hands in his. "Oh, no, no..."

"If I hadn't made her tell-"

"No, Miss Raya," he said gently, but firmly. "Nothing _you_ did-nothing that _anybody_ did-can excuse what has happened to your mother. The fault for this is on the man respon..."

"My father is responsible." She whispered brokenly. "_He_ killed her. He killed her 'cause I didn't remember his rule about telling having consequences."

Alfred shook his head. He felt sick to his stomach. "No..."

"My mother is dead," she stated in a wet whisper, "and it's all my fault."

"No, Miss Raya," he soothed. "This is not your fault. This will _never_ be your fault."

_No more than the deaths of Thomas and Martha Wayne will ever be Master Bruce's fault_.

Raya's head tipped against his shoulder as she started to cry softly. "I hate him, Mr. Pennyworth," she whimpered. "I hate him so much."

He rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles. "I know you do, Miss Raya." _He hates the man who killed his parents, too_, he told her silently. Aloud he just said, "I know you do."

* * *

><p>Matthew Berkeley wandered through the palatial grounds of his grand estate an hour before dawn was even set to start changing the sky from onyx to twilight. Restless, frustrated, he crossed the huge, wide foyer that was nothing but marble, dark wood, and the cold, cold sparkle of crystal and silver. Every one of the holiday decorations he passed on his way up the stairs had been hand selected, either by a personal decorator, or by his whore-bitch wife. He found the majority of the decor to be tasteless, sterile and boring. He was a man of refined tastes. He knew precisely what he liked, and exactly what he wanted. He also knew how precisely to go about obtaining those things that he desired. No matter what the cost, no matter the effort it required him to exert, he obtained whatever it was he wanted.<p>

And what he wanted most at that moment was for word to reach him about Gordon's demise.

_How long does it take to find one body_? he fumed as he walked across the second floor landing towards his suite of rooms in the mansions east wing. The moment he'd stepped through the Estate's huge oak front door, he'd been assaulted by a wealth of sensory information and dark images. He saw Ellen as he'd left her, bleeding and broken at the bottom of the grand staircase. Roses-red as the blood that pooled beneath her body, spread out around her like angel wings.

Everywhere he looked he saw something that he knew belonged to his feckless Ellen: a book of sonnets on the table in the front entry hall, the vase of roses he'd bought her a few days ago, the portrait they'd bought together on their last trip to Paris. Her smell was everywhere, and the scent was both intoxicating and seductive. He could hear her whispering to him from the shadows, begging him to release her from this castle that he was the King of.

Oh, he wouldn't let her go, of course.

He'd never set her free.

She _belonged_ to him.

Legally, morally, and eternally now.

She'd promised him her love, loyalty, and her life. In return he'd given her the moon, brought her to live in his palace and made her his Queen. Love had turned to fury, a raging flood of anger which he'd nurtured with acrimonious hatred three years after they'd married. Ellen had betrayed him, denied him the one thing he wanted the most: a son in which to carry on the Berkeley name. She owed him for having given him nothing but a useless girl-child. For eight-years he'd made Ellen pay for her inability to fulfill her promise to him. In their last few years together, he had believed that she'd learned her lesson. She'd done everything she could to please him.

Except give him the son he craved.

Then she started talking back to him, demanding he allow her to take his daughter and move to their estate in England. When he refused that, she sent his daughter to live with Gordon. It was his daughter who encouraged Ellen to tell Gordon about his partnership with Roman Sionis. The little brat not only convinced his wife to show Gordon where the shipment of guns had been hidden, but about who they planned to sell the guns too. That, he'd decided, had been the final straw.

He had to teach his daughter a lesson about consequences.

And so he had.

A slow smile creased his lips as he paused in front of a framed picture set upon a small table outside the entrance of the library. Long, elegant fingers reached out to stroke the face gracing that photograph. _You have learned your lesson about telling, haven't you, daughter_? he said to the solemn girl staring back at him with green eyes-Ellen's eyes. _You have learned about what the consequences are for not doing as I have instructed_.

Heavy footsteps crossing the front foyer drew Berkeley's attention. He moved back to the railing and watched as a man, dressed in charcoal trousers and a white button down, unbuttoned at the throat, came strolling into view. Detective Rolonov almost looked like one of Gotham's society playboys coming home from a late evening at his club. He was darkly handsome with piercing eyes the color of fog, golden tanned skin and a slow, pleasant smile. Yet, this man was far from being one of the entitled who ruled Gotham high society. _Oh no_, Berkeley thought with a small smirk. The good _detective_ here was most definitely not a member of high society. And he never would be, was Berkeley's thought.

"Yes, Detective?" he asked politely. "Have you brought me word that Gordon's body has been found?"

Rolonov glanced up. "Captain Gordon is alive, though, in critical condition."

Anger surged, was banked. "So," he said slowly. "Gordon not only managed to survive being shot multiple times, but he survived his journey through the sewers as well."

"That is what it looks like," Rolonov said with a nod. "Yes."

"And my daughter?" he drawled. "You were also instructed to bring her to me."

"Your daughter," the man stated in low, honeyed tones, "is staying with Bruce Wayne. I saw Batman put her into Wayne's car personally."

"Is she now? Well," he said in a low, thoughtful murmur. "That is very interesting." He paused and stared off into the distance for a moment. Then he rumbled, "It's very, very interesting, indeed."

Rolonov placed a hand upon the mahogany railing. "So, is this enough to take the bounty off my head?"

"I am well pleased, detective," he said in a simpering tone that he could tell grated upon the other man's nerves. Not that he cared about how annoyed the man got. "As for this being enough to take the bounty off your head?" He shook his head. "Not at all."

"Who else do I gotta kill in order to get this bulls-eye removed from my back then?"

"When you have killed Gordon?" Berkeley's eyes glinted with dark humor and his full mouth twitched. "Then and only then is when the bounty upon your head will come off. Now," he said as he turned. "Get out."


	11. Twas the Night

**A/N**: Season's Greetings, m'dears…I do hope this holiday is warm and bright and brings good tidings to you all!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

**S/N**: Obviously, it goes without saying that _'Twas the Night Before Christmas_ belongs to Clement Clark Moore.

* * *

><p>Gordon floated in the gray world that existed between awake and asleep. He knew that the combination of the searing pain attacking every inch of his body and the drugs being pumped into his horribly grateful system were causing him to hallucinate. Hell, it wasn't like he really cared that he was hallucinating. The drugpain induced vision he was having was his absolute most favorite one ever. He allowed himself to drift into the land of dreams with a small sigh.

_The silence of his house was a comfort after the nightmare of that evening. Crime never slept. Especially in a city like Gotham where being a criminal was the most profitable job to have. It was a familiar he'd become accustomed to, that he embraced with every fiber of his being and that he accepted simply because there wasn't any other damn choice. That night, however, Firefly had decided to entrap a bridge full of people in order to lure out Batman. It'd taken the combined efforts of the dark knight, as well as a battalion of his best police officers in order to stop the pyrotechnic lunatic before any more innocent Gothamites got hurt. Even with all the manpower standing against him, it still took several hours before Garfield Lynns was subdued, and several more after that before he'd been taken to the precinct for processing. The first hints of dawn were only just turning the twilight sky crimson when he opened his front door._

_The first thing he did-that he always did when he got home, was go and check upon his children. His children were, after all, his reminder about why he remained a police officer despite his ever growing disgust with the corruption that was infesting the department with its corrosive disease. His children were his reason for getting up every day. They were why he put on his suit and tie, for sticking his badge in his pocket, his gun in its holster. His kids were the determination in his step as he walked out his front door to face whatever it was that the city, and her new breed of criminals, was gonna toss at him that day. They were the fire in his eye, and the song in his heart. His kids were why he'd continue doing what he did until he was either too old, or too dead to still be doing it. _

_His kids were also why he'd tentatively chosen to work alongside a costumed vigilante that most of the city of Gotham (himself included) considered to be no better than the filth he helped bring to justice. Batman had become an ally despite Gordon's better judgment. None of that mattered much to James Gordon at that moment, though. No, the only thing that mattered to him right then was checking upon his kids. Morning, afternoon or night, his routine remained the same. It would always remain the same. He'd unlock the door, step inside, drop off his coat, and go down the hall to check upon his kids. His kids were his coping mechanism, his way of handling the stress of his job and all of its regular demands. Nobody at the station knew that this was how he dealt with the nightly traumas, the daily horrors, the senseless bloodshed and violence. Not even Harvey knew about his routine. Not that the man wouldn't have understood had he known. _

_He glanced into his bedroom on his way down the hall and could just barely make out the top of his wife's head poking out from the top of the covers. His lips curved before he turned to glance into his son, James Jr.'s room. His son had made a cave out of his blankets and was snoring blissfully from somewhere in the middle of his cottony fortress. Finally, he turned to walk into his daughter, Barbara's bedroom. He was just finishing tucking her in, when his seven-year-old niece, who he thought was sleeping, spoke from the other bed in the room._

_"Did Batman help you save Gotham tonight, Uncle Jim?"_

_"Actually, pumpkin," he said with a small smile. "I helped him save Gotham tonight."_

_Raya gazed at him, her eyes these huge green saucers in the twilight. "You did?"_

_He settled on the bed beside her. "I helped him stop the Firefly from hurting a lot of innocent people."_

_"Really?" she breathed out in an awed voice. "How'd you and Batman stop him, Uncle Jim?" she asked, curling against him and cradling her head on his stomach. "Did you shoot him? Or did Batman use one of his gadget thingies to stop him?"_

_Gordon felt his throat tighten at her simple and sweet showing of trust and affection. Neither of her parents seemed inclined to think that their daughter, their only child, required more than just their basic care and attention. Until nine months ago, they'd left her day-to-day upbringing to the score of tutors and nanny they had on retainer. What nurturing Raya had received came from either him, or from her aunt and cousins._

_ Raya had started to blossom now that she'd come live with them. The sad and solemn look had faded from her eyes. She no longer jumped at every little sound, nor spent every moment glancing fearfully over her shoulder. It gave him and Babs hope that the emotional damage her parents had inflicted upon her with their negligence could be reversed with time, love and patience._

_"That story can wait until another night..." he told her gruffly. "It's time for bed, kiddo."_

_"Aw, but Uncle Jim..." she complained with a small pout that made her look even more like a fairy princess. "I'm not sleepy."_

_Jim chuckled as he brushed her soft curls from her face. "Don't you aw, Uncle Jim, me, young lady," he said. "If you want a bedtime story, it is going to be about something other than me recounting yet another of mine and Batman's exploits to you."_

_Exploits, he added silently, that you already know much too much about as it is._

_"I like listening about your exploits with Batman."_

_"Yes," he said with a chuckle. "I know that you do."_

_And I encourage you because I like indulging you. _

Raya_ was silent for all of thirty seconds. "Will you tell me 'Twas the Night Before Christmas?" she asked while darting a look at his face. "Please?"_

_He should have guessed that that would be her story request. Raya was not a whimsical or fanciful child. She didn't believe in things like the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. She'd only started to accept that heroes existed when Batman came onto the scene just a little over a year and a half ago. He didn't know why she'd selected this particular poem as a bedtime story, and it didn't matter. She'd asked him to tell it to her, and tell it to her he would. He settled back against the headboard before beginning his recitation._

_"'Twas the night before Christmas," he said. "When all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas, soon would be there..."_

_Five minutes later he looked down and found she was fast asleep. Gordon smiled as he kicked off his shoes and set his glasses on the nightstand. Barbara would know where he was when she awoke, and he knew she'd understand why he hadn't come to bed. He let out a sigh as he shifted into a more comfortable position. Raya protested her jostling with a soft murmur. He quieted her by rubbing her back in slow, soothing circles. He drifted off a few moments later._

* * *

><p><em>"...<em>in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there..."

_He's mumbling that Christmas poem again_, Erin Tate thought with a pang. Gordon had been mumbling that infamous Christmas poem for the better part of the last hour. Erin figured that it was somehow related to whatever it was Gordon was likely thinking or dreaming about while in his unconscious state. She assumed that his thoughts, like any rational persons would be in this situation, were upon his family. That he'd much rather prefer being with them for Christmas over being stuck here in a hospital bed was obvious.

_But the bad guys don't care about things like Christmas or family get together's_, she thought with just a shade of the familiar bitterness. _To them, the holidays are merely another day at the office. For them it is just another day to torment the good people of this city and line their pockets with gold. _

Erin drew in a ragged breath and finished adding notes to his chart. She hung the chart on the hook at the front of his bed, but didn't move so much as an inch from that spot. Ethan had told her about how Gordon had been trapped in the tunnels that ran beneath the city. It was a miracle that after he got shot that he'd managed to find his way to that basin at the nuclear power plant. His bulletproof vest, coupled with whatever had slowed the speed of the bullets, was the only thing that prevented his injuries from being instantly fatal. Even still, Gordon was in for a very long, very daunting and very intense recovery process.

_That's if he manages to survive the next few days_.

Sighing, Erin turned and walked over to the window. She was in need of a change in scenery. For a change in perspective. There were thoughts in her head, whirling faster than that roller coaster she'd loved riding as a kid. She found she couldn't concentrate on much of anything at the moment. She was far too consumed by the terrifying prospect that the man in that hospital bed was going to fall into a coma and die.

_He will not die_, she told herself sternly. _His wife and children need him. This city needs him._

She rest her forehead against the cool windowpane and stared out at the world just beginning to stir. The people of Gotham were rousing themselves from their beds, many lured by the gleaming lights hanging upon a tree under which scores of colorfully wrapped items had been left. Most were woefully and willfully unaware about how they were getting to celebrate Christmas because of a good man risking his life in order to stop some rifle toting asshole from ruining it.

She heard a soft exhalation of air come from behind her, and then heard Gordon muttering, "Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse..."

Erin turned and walked back to the bed. She laid her fingers against his cheek, and whispered nonsensical words in order to soothe him. A voice, that belonging to her twin brother, Ethan, spoke from the doorway.

"How is he?"

She glanced over at him. Even in the dim light she could see the exhaustion, as well as the swirls of grief ghosting his face. It'd been a long night for them all, she realized. "Captain Gordon's condition is the same as before."

"And Bullock?"

"Bullock hasn't regained consciousness just yet, but his condition has been upgraded from critical to stable."

Ethan sighed and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. "Do doctors think that Gordon is, at least, gonna make it?"

"He stands a good chance of making it, yes," she said with a nod. "But it'll definitely take time before he's back on his feet, or ready to return to work."

Ethan let out a soft curse and slammed a fist against the wood paneling. "I just wish I knew who it was that shot him and Bullock. I'd go and arrest the man," he paused to blow out a breath. "Or _men_ responsible if I knew who they were."

"Well, if I had to hazard a guess?" Erin said as she scooped her flame colored hair into a messy bun she secured with a pencil. "I would say Gordon has been telling you the entire time about who it is that might have shot him."

Ethan cocked an eyebrow. "You think it is Matthew Berkeley who shot Gordon?"

"Yes." She nodded. "I do."

"Why?"

"Well," she spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "You said Gordon was going on about you needing to find Batman and ask him to become the guardian of his niece, right?" At his nod, she said. "You've been assuming that Captain Gordon was telling you that Raya Berkeley needed a guardian from some unknown assailant. What if he was actually trying to tell you that who she needs protecting from is her own Da?"


	12. A Knight For Christmas

**A/N**: Season's Greetings, my lovelies! I do hope the holiday is warm and bright and brings nothing but good tidings to you all!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

* * *

><p>Bruce realized he could not walk into Gotham General dressed in his body armor as soon as he found himself standing on the roof of the hospital. However, stripping everything off and going into the hospital dressed as Bruce Wayne wasn't going to work either. There was simply no logical explanation that he could come up with that would suffice for why either of his personas had come to see Captain Gordon. He didn't deliberate over what options he had open to him for long.<p>

Way he saw it, there was only one viable option open to him: rappel down to Gordon's floor. As contingency plans went, it was risky. There was every possibility that hospital staff or security could see him. But it was the best plan to be had. He glanced down at the empty street, calculated how many floors he needed to descend before throwing himself off the roof, keeping his cape tucked firmly against his body as he plunged headfirst through the night. Gravity seized him as he hurdled to the alley below, a line of unbreakable monofilament wire unspooling behind him. The predawn wind shrieked past his face.

Gordon had been moved to a private room in the ICU. He counted off the floors as he plummeted past them. _One, two_... He waited until just the right moment before triggering the braking mechanism attached to his belt. _Three_! He came to a halt right outside a room on the tenth floor. Dim lights penetrated the blinds as he stealthily slid the window open and slipped inside. He made not a sound as he crossed to prostrate figure in the bed. His heart sank at the sight that greeted him.

Bruce had met James Gordon on what was still the absolute worst night of his life. A young detective, freshly promoted, Gordon had attempted to comfort a nine-year-old child who'd watched his parents murdered right before his eyes mere hours before. He'd never forgotten Gordon's kindness. In a city that was full of dirty cops, Gordon had stood out as one of the few who possessed any integrity and class whatsoever. He'd become an unlikely, but invaluable ally in Batman's war upon crime.

He couldn't have accomplished a lot of what he had if it had not been for Gordon's help.

Now the courageous detective lay in a hospital bed, hooked to a bunch of machines, close to death. Bruce stared at the blinking and whirring medical equipment monitoring his vital signs. His stats were all alarmingly low. An oxygen mask was pushing much needed air into his starved lungs. IVs pumped fluids as well as desperately needed medication into his bruised and battered body. Gordon's face was almost as white as the sheets upon which he lay. Needle thin scratches crisscrossed his face, arms and the back of his hands. A livid bruise that was nearly as black as his armor was just visible above the collar of his hospital gown. Bruce felt the rage always simmering beneath the surface leap to life.

_Who did this, Jim_? he silently asked the prostrate man. _Who put you in this hospital bed_? _Tell me and I _will_ find them and see them brought to justice_.

Whoever had done this was going to _pay_. Gordon was someone he believed in, that he relied upon, that he could count on to do the things that _Batman_ couldn't. More importantly, he was _Raya's_ uncle and the only real father that the little girl had. Bruce had been stunned when he'd learned that Raya's father was Matthew Berkeley Jr. He knew Berkeley, he'd gone to school with the man and occupied many of the same social circles he did. He knew Berkeley to be a vicious bully who hid his cruelty beneath a carefully crafted mask of polish and sophistication. There'd been rumors lately about Sionis having a new partner. Was it possible that that new partner was Berkeley?

_Berkeley_.

Berkeley was who hurt Raya. He was who put that mountain of fear in her eyes. He suspected there were many things that Berkeley had done to his daughter. Things intended to break her will and make her completely compliant. He slammed a clenched fist upon the metal railing, rattling the clipboard that hung off the front of the bed. The sound roused Gordon, whose eyes fluttered open. For a moment, Bruce feared that the sight of a man in a fearsome mask and thick body armor standing at the foot of his bed would cause the Captain to go into a panic. However, he seemed to recognize that it was him who was there, and not someone who meant him harm. Gordon attempted to speak, but the oxygen mask stifled his words. Wincing in pain, he tugged the mask away from his mouth.

"You came," he said in a hoarse whisper. "I wasn't sure that you-"

"You shouldn't be trying to talk at the moment," Bruce said in Batman's throaty rasp. "You need to conserve your energy so that you-"

"No," Gordon croaked. "I need to ask..." He broke off to wheeze and gasp. Bruce went to place his oxygen mask back on, but Gordon pushed his hand away.

"You need to-"

"No," Gordon interjected in a voice that had a hint of the steel it normally did. "I need you to protect my niece, Raya." Anxious eyes pleaded with him. "She's in danger."

"From her father."

He didn't phrase it as a question because he already knew the answer. Yet, nothing prepared him for what Gordon was going to tell him next.

"He killed his wife."

Shock crashed over him in waves. "_What_?"

"Raya was there, she saw it," Gordon said throatily. "That's why you have to take her. You have to take her and hide her. You have to take her and hide her and protect her."

_Does he even know what he's asking of me here?_ Bruce wondered. Aloud though he told the injured man, "I can't take your niece."

"Yes, yo-"

"No," he said firmly. "I can't. My life isn't one designed for a child. It's far too dangerous."

Gordon clutched at his gloved hand with fingers born of desperation.

"You have to take her," he murmured, gasping for breath. "You have to take her and hide her and protect her."

"Jim..."

"He'll kill her if you don't."

* * *

><p><em>Trust the night<em>.

The phrase again flickered into his mind as he plunged into the shadows of the labyrinthine tunnels that led into the subterranean cavern beneath Wayne Manor. The words were a reminder telling him that no matter how dire a situation might seem, or how hopeless things might appear, so long as he trusted in the night to guide him, everything would turn out all right. The night was the one constant in his life that had never failed him. The night always knew best. It never steered him wrong. Yet, even _he_ found himself wondering if the night had lost its mind. Exactly what the night was about in giving _him_ a child to guard, he could not say. What the lesson here was supposed to be, he did not know. All he knew as he expertly traversed the narrow passageways was that the night had decided he needed to protect a small girl from a man who meant her great, physical harm.

And protect her he would.

From this night forward, he and Raya were irrevocably bound by a thread as unbreakable as the wire he'd used to gain entrance to her uncle's hospital room. Night had decreed it, fate had aided in it happening, and violence had sealed the pact in blood. The tunnel began to widen and grow lighter a few seconds later. He flew out the chute into the Batcave and allowed the Batwing to hover while a pair of slate cubes rose to form a landing pad. He touched down on the cubes.

The canopy opened and _Batman_ emerged into the subdued interior lighting he'd installed just over a year ago, into the interior of the underground fortress he'd started building after he'd returned from his journey to become Gotham's nocturnal protector. He activated the cowl's hands-free as he began walking across the platform towards the stairs that led up to the main platform and the huge computer workstation he'd painstakingly put together to aide him in monitoring the city and its criminals.

"Alfred, I'm home."

The butler's voice, carried directly to his ear, was coated in relief, or perhaps exasperation. He never could tell which. "I am pleased to hear your voice, sir. Did all go well? Were you able to locate Captain Gordon?"

"I found him," he replied. "He's currently in the ICU at Gotham General."

"Oh, my." There was a note of dismay and concern now in Alfred's voice. "His condition is serious I am taking it?"

"Very serious at this moment," Bruce rasped. "I overheard a nurse telling some of Gordon's men that the next twenty-four hours are critical."

"This will not please the young miss to hear." Bruce heard Alfred sigh. "She is going to want to see him."

"Gordon has instructed me to not bring her to the hospital, Alfred."

"May I ask why, sir?"

With a sigh, Bruce walked up the steel ramp into the main grotto of the cave. He passed the area that served as his crime lab before ascending another set of short steps to the main computer station. A large, high-definition flat screen monitor dominated the wall while seven linked Cray supercomputers hummed quietly, providing enough data storage and computing power to run the entire city. He shed his cape and the cowl, simultaneously balancing between the vigilante and the billionaire. He pressed a few keys on the keyboard to route the call from the speaker in his cowl to the computer.

"Gordon told me that Berkeley may have killed Raya's mother." He paused to run a hand over his face. "He says that she may have witnessed what happened."

"And?"

Bruce's lips twitched. _Leave it to Alfred to just get to the heart of the matter_.

"And he says that Berkeley will kill Raya if he can get his hands on her."

"Good heavens..." there was genuine anger and disgust in the older gentleman's voice that echoed that burning in Bruce's heart. "And what is it that Captain Gordon wants you to do, exactly?"

"He wants me to keep her hidden."

"Surely he realizes that the girl's father has a legal and unassailable right to her."

"Ellen Kean-Berkeley signed custody of Raya over to Gordon a few days before Christmas. He's her legal guardian. Something," Bruce said on a sigh. "That I think Berkeley may have found out about."

Alfred made a soft speculative sound. "That sounds like a potential motive for murder to me."

"Yes," he growled. "And it's very likely the reason for why Gordon was shot tonight. Berkeley is eliminating everybody who can finger him in his wife's murder. The last one he needs to get rid of is Raya. And Gordon stands in his way."

"I'm afraid that Miss Raya already confirmed as much to me in our conversation earlier."

Both of his eyebrows shot up at that startling revelation. "Raya told you about what happened the night her mother was murdered?"

"Not in any specific details, sir," was the butler's gentle reply. "She only said enough that I was able to infer the events for myself."

Bruce knew that Alfred's inferences were almost always spot-on.

"Did she see what happened?"

"I can confirm that she did, indeed, see what happened to her mother. And," he added on a heavy sigh. "She blames herself for it."

Bruce's felt his heart constrict at hearing how Raya blamed herself for what happened. _Just like I blame myself for what happened to Mother and Father_. Aloud though, he asked, "Did she say why she blames herself for what happened to her mother?"

"You should ask her that, Master Bruce."

He'd already figured that that would be Alfred's answer. The man was predictable in a way. His lips curved at the corners.

"Where is our guest at the moment?"

"She is asleep in the library. Something that you," the butler advised pointedly. "Really should try to do yourself, sir. She will anticipate Master Wayne to look like a pampered and well-rested playboy when she greets him for the first time this morning."

_When she greets _me_ this morning and not her family_, Bruce realized with a slight, bittersweet pang. Again he was reminded about how much he shared in common with the pixie asleep upstairs. _Just like me, senseless violence_ _has taken_ _her world and turned it completely upside down. _Raya was essentially spending this Christmas as an orphan. Her mother was dead, her uncle was near death in the hospital, and the rest of her family was only God knew where. She had nobody to share the magic of the season with. _Well_, he amended silently. _She has us_. Even as he thought it, he knew it wouldn't be the same. As much as they tried, they just were not her family.

He ignored the voice that was whispering to him about how "they could be her family."

"It's Christmas, Alfred," he said quietly.

"Indeed it is, Master Bruce," was the butler's drawled response. "I am glad to know that you have finally remembered today is a holiday."

"She doesn't even have presents beneath the Christmas tree to wake up to this morning." His shoulders slumped as the familiar weight of responsibility settled heavily upon his shoulders. "All she has is waking up in a house that is not her own, with a bunch of strangers who are not her family, and an endless amount of uncertainty and pain to deal with."

"If I may say so," Alfred said gently now. "But you've already given Miss Raya exactly what it was that she wanted this Christmas."

"And what was that, Alfred?"

"You gave her a Knight for Christmas, Master Bruce."


	13. New Years Intruders

**A/N**: Hello my lovelies! I hope that the New Year has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/fav button!

**S/N**: I was _supposed_ to have posted this on New Year's, but RL issues got in the way. Apologies and hopefully everyone enjoys! Thank you to the guest who kept asking me to continue, hopefully they continue enjoying the story!

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><p>Dreams were something Bruce knew only came late in the night, when the mind was at its most vulnerable and a person's control at its very lowest. It was a simple enough thing to avoid the things one wanted to be forgotten when the sun was high up in the sky. It was an easy enough task to accomplish whike awake. One could easily protect themselves from the monster who would come for them once their eyes fell shut and their brains went into hibernation mode. Sleep, he knew, had a power and attraction that was all its own.<p>

Sleep was a seductress who lured the dreamer into its supple arms and lovingly tantalized them.

Sleep was the temptress who promised they'd take the dreamer to heaven.

Yet, Bruce knew that sleep did nothing but deliver the dreamer straight into the burning pits of hell. Sleep reminded the dreamer about the things they may have wished would remain forgotten. Even the strongest mind was not capable of avoiding the purveyor of the realm of nightmares. Bruce, himself, was quite familiar with the God of Nightmares. He'd only been chased by him since the night Thomas and Martha Wayne had been killed in a failed robbery in an alley behind the Monarch Theater.

Sleep, after all, was also the most talented of liars.

Even now, at the age of twenty-seven, he was still hunted by the entity who ruled the world of dreams with one dark fist. Much like the night, the Greek God, Icelus, was a constant in his life. He was as much a part of him as his anger and fear were part of Batman. Icelus was the one who reminded him about everything that had been taken from him in that alley: his family, his innocence, his childhood. Icelus was the voice constantly taunting him about how he'd been "unable to save Mother and Father," because he'd been nothing more than a "coward."

Icelus had also become the constant in the life of a little girl that fate and a critically injured James Gordon had entrusted into his care. Knowing the Greek God was chasing Raya through that same velvet void that it chased him shredded his heart and soul. However, there was nothing physically that he could do to stop the Gods nocturnal attacks. Entering that darkly deceptive realm as either _Batman_ or _Bruce_ _Wayne_ was simply not possible. Neither _Batman_ nor _Bruce Wayne_ could protect Raya from the God of Nightmares. The plane upon which Icelus launched his attack from was not a plane of existence upon which he could fight him.

The only thing he could do was be there when she awoke, shrieking with her memories and sobbing from the renewed pain. It was the only thing in the six days since Raya had come into his cold and twisted world that she'd needed from him; asked of him. He'd wondered at first if he'd even possessed the skills necessary to comfort and care for a child. Even with Alfred's unwavering support, he'd struggled. Yet, it was a skill he'd found that he had not really needed to learn so much as cultivate. Thomas Wayne, before his death, had taught him all he needed to know about comforting a frightened child. _Erikson would say she has not resolved the first stage of his eight stage model of human development, _he thought as he opened a well-worn copy of Lewis Carroll's _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ and flipped to the page he'd earmarked. _He'd say that the uncertainty created in her infancy by her chaotic family life has made her mistrust the world, her caregivers and herself. _

The continued chaos of her life only served to make her issues with trust deeper, more complex. To combat her trust issues would require making sure that she felt safe, that her environment was secure, and that her basic needs met. Being there to comfort and soothe the fear and the hurt her nightmares caused was a great way to establish trust. However, he, as well as Alfred, knew it was only the start of what was going to be a long and often arduous journey.

"_The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice," _he read aloud in the soft, soothing baritone belonging to _Bruce Wayne_ instead of that raspy growl he'd cultivated for his alter-ego. "_'Who are you?' said the Caterpillar."_

He paused to glance down at the eight-year-old girl who was curled against his right side. Her head was cradled on his shoulder, her tiny hand tucked beneath her chin. Her heart-shaped face was quietly pensive, those long black lashes lowered to conceal those eyes that were greener than the Manor's manicured lawns.

"Are you absolutely sure that you want me to read you _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_?" he asked. Not that he minded reading her this tale, of course. _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ happened to be one of his favorite stories, as well. It was something he remembered his mother reading to him as a child. Still, it was a bit dense for a bedtime story. And not very festive for a holiday. "Wouldn't you prefer if I read something about baby New Year instead?"

Distantly, he wondered if there was actually a storybook out there about Baby New Year. He made a mental note to ask Alfred. If anybody was likely to have any idea about whether or not such books existed, it was his most trusted friend.

"Bruce," Raya said upon a long suffering sigh that had Bruce's lips twitching. "The only story about baby New Year is that silly puppet cartoon they play every year."

"That silly puppet cartoon is called _Rudolph's Shiny New Year_," he told her. "And it is considered a holiday classic."

Raya merely sniffed at that.

"The story itself has no basis in fact," she stated, "It's a complete work of fiction that was created for the sole purpose of mass producing those hideous baby with big ears in a diaper and top hat figurines that Hallmark sells."

Bruce swallowed a laugh. He was not surprised by her answer, though. The other thing that he'd learned in the six days since she'd come to stay at the Manor was that she was almost more cynical than he was. _Almost_. Unlike him, however, there was still a chance that she could learn to believe in make believe. It had stunned him to learn that she didn't believe in Santa Claus. Finding out she preferred reading _Sherlock Holmes _and autobiographies to things like _Peter Pan_ or the stories of the Brothers Grimm had left him stunned_. _

_"_No eight-year-old should be so jaded that they cannot believe in things like fairytale Princes and Princesses, or Santa Claus and his elves_," _he'd told Alfred_. _Yet, she did not believe in such "fanciful, illogical things._" _That was the reason for why he'd asked her to read _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland _to him on Christmas Eve. Raya needed a little whimsy in her life. And Alice's adventures were a perfect way to introduce her to the realm of fantasy.

"_Alice in Wonderland_ is also a work of fiction," he informed her with a smile. "It's a fairytale, actually. A complete work of make believe."

A _ffff_ was her response to that bit of logic. Bruce felt a chuckle welling up in his chest but swallowed it to read, "_This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, 'I — I hardly know, sir, just at present — at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.' 'What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. 'Explain yourself!'"_

"How is Alice supposed to know who she is?" Raya asked when he paused to take a breath. "She is a little girl lost in a strange new world."

"You think she has forgotten who she is?"

"Well." She darted a quick glance at his face, clearly trying to gauge the intent hidden within his question. When she was sure that there was no seeming underlying hint of retribution if she chose to answer she said, "Wouldn't you wonder if you were still you if you found yourself in as strange a land as Wonderland?"

The intelligence Raya was displaying at her age continued to amaze him. _She asks questions and makes observations not even people my own age are capable of_. There was an endless amount of possibilities for a mind such as hers, a cornucopia of opportunities that awaited her. The stars were the limit for this little girl. He tried his best to ignore a slippery little voice whispering to him about how she would make a formidable "detective" once she "gained some experience and cultivated some confidence." However, if Bruce was being honest-_really_ honest with himself, then he'd admit that he wanted to be a part of this fledgling's evolution. He wanted to help this Phoenix spread her wings and take flight.

_I want to teach the Phoenix to rise. _

He buried that thought down deep, told himself she was only in his care temporarily and that once Gordon was out of the hospital she'd go home with him. _And that is where she belongs. _It was up to Gordon to raise Raya, to teach her right from wrong, to make sure her world was safe. Gordon would make sure that she got the help that she needed. He'd see to it that all the damage that Berkeley caused was undone. _He'll raise her right_.

However, he couldn't deny that there wasn't a small part of him that wished she could just stay with him and Alfred. Wayne Manor was no longer the oppressive place it had been before she'd come along. It no longer burned with an echoing silence or the oppressive weight of his guilt and anger. He no longer dreaded coming home from his nightly patrols (which he took once she was put to bed). He had this—had _her_ to look forward to seeing when he came home. She managed to chase away the shadows that played in every opulent corner, danced upon the stairs, and whispered taunts at him from every room. She'd become the light inside his murky little world. With her living here he was a little less… _lonely_.

_She can't stay_, he told himself firmly. _And that's final_.

"Bruce?" he heard her hesitantly ask. He reached up to stroke a hand over those springy curls, silently reassuring her that he was still there, that he hadn't fallen asleep or left her alone.

"Well," he said slowly. "Why do you think that she doesn't know she's still Alice?"

A frown puckered her brow as she considered her answer. "Clearly, Alice is in a world where absolutely nothing is as it seems," she said. "Even she is not what she seems." She pointed to a passage in the book. "'_I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see._'"

"Ah, but _she_ hasn't actually changed," he stated with a smile, "only the world itself has changed."

"Yes, but nothing makes _sense_ in Wonderland. Everything logical has now become illogical."

"So is her wondering whether she's still Alice or not logical, or illogical?"

"Logical."

"Why?"

"Well." She paused a moment; considered. "Alice is obviously wondering if she has to become someone else in order to fit into this strange new world she's found herself."

_Aha_, was Bruce's immediate thought. _She's imagining that her own identity crisis must also be Alice's. _It was only to be expected that she'd equate her situation with Alice's, though. Raya had had her entire world turned completely upside down in the last few weeks. She'd witnessed something that he'd have gladly sold his vast wealth in order to prevent her from ever having seen. She'd been handed off into the hands of strangers because her uncle was incapable of taking care of her. _Eight_, he mused pensively. _She's near the same age I was when I saw Mother and Father killed_. He pushed his dark musings to the back of his mind, however, and focused upon the girl curled against him.

"Raya, who do you think you are?"

"I..." she sighed. "I don't know."

_So much uncertainty for one so young_, he thought with a pang.

"Who do you want to be?"

She looked away, chewed on her lower lip as she considered her answer. Finally she turned those hypnotic eyes upon him and said, "Me. I just want to be me."

Short, sweet, and straight from the heart.

"Then just be you, kiddo," he told her gruffly. "Just be you."

She flashed him that special smile, the one that made her face glow as if a thousand candles had been set alight beneath her skin. It was a glow he, tormented man that he was, wanted to capture in the palm of his hand and hold forever. Then she was resting her head upon his chest with a small, contented sigh that had that half-frozen muscle inside his chest cavity melting just a bit more.

_No_, he thought as he opened the book again, _Batman_ couldn't shield Raya from the deceptive wrath of Icelus. _But then_, he realized, it wasn't really _Batman_ that she needed at that moment. It was _him_. He was the one chasing her nightmares away, who was making her world right, who was making sure that she was safe, protected, cared for. Yes, keeping her from being harmed by men like Detective Branson and Matthew Berkeley Jr. were all things _Batman_ could do. But giving her things like a home and _Wonderland? _A smile wreathed his face. Well, that was something that only _Bruce Wayne_ could do.

"'_I don't see,' said the Caterpillar,_" he read, unaware that outside the Manor, two black SUVs were pulling up in front of the dark house and a handful of men, all dressed in GCPD riot gear, stepping out, each carrying a standard police issue rifle in their hands. Only the leader of the group, Smith, was carrying a shotgun.

"Boss wants the kid brought to him," Detective Smith said, racking a shell into the gun's firing chamber. "Preferably without a scratch on her and before Rolonov finishes off that rat Gordon."

"What about Wayne and his butler?" one of the men, a rookie named Hutchinson asked. "What's the boss wants us ta do with 'em?"

"If either Wayne or his butler gets in our way, waste 'em," Smith replied. "Hell, waste 'em anyway is what I say." His lips twisted into a cold sneer. "We'd be doing the city a favor by getting rid of a degenerate like Wayne." There were small murmurs of agreement from the men. Smith chuckled before he turned towards the entrance. "Let's go."

"Yes, sir," they all replied as they followed him up the steps.


	14. City of Chaos

**A/N**: Hello my lovelies! I hope that life has been good to you!

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><p>For over two hours, Ethan and a group of uniformed officers had been scouring the streets and alleys around a section of Gotham known as the Narrows in search of an escaped Arkham inmate by the name of Davis McKinley. A career criminal, McKinley had been transferred to the asylum after he started having paranoid delusions that included conversations with his long-dead mother. While he was not as dangerous as Victor Zsasz, the Joker, or a good many others who were housed inside the walls of Arkham, McKinley was still a threat<em>. <em>One he and his fellow officers needed to scoop up and return to the asylum before he potentially caused harm to anybody while in one of his paranoid states.

Ethan was fully aware that people were watching them. He saw dozens of faces peeking out from the windows of the rundown homes he passed. People stood watching from the front stoops outside their dilapidated brownstones and from fire escapes high above. Distrust and anger smelled as strongly as the refuse boiling over the tops of dumpsters. Ethan was well aware of how the police were viewed as the enemy in this part of Gotham.

It wasn't like he didn't understand why the people of this small community felt as they did towards the police. Having grown up just a few blocks over, he knew exactly why they'd lost their faith in those who wore the silver or gold badges. It was not a problem that could be easily solved. The distrust had already become a festering wound long by the time his Da had thought about entering the civil service field. And it'd only gotten progressively worse in the last ten years. The people of the Narrows were just plain sick and tired of being ignored, used or vilified by the justice system that was supposed to be protecting people them. _Men like Flass, Branson, Little, Davidson and Smith. _

All were men who had taken vows to "serve and protect."

All were men who had failed to do just that.

His flashlight beam landed upon a stocky man dressed in dingy gray asylum garb. He was cowering behind a dumpster overflowing with garbage, babbling incoherently to himself. Tate swallowed a sigh and slowly approached him. Davis saw him and cowered back with a whimpered, "The gashinkies! The gashinkies are coming ta get me!"

"The _whats_ it are gonna get him?" he heard one of the rookies... _Cholmsky_, he realized, muttering in a disgusted tone. Then the officer fixed his flashlight upon Davis, who reacted instantly.

"No!" he howled. "Turn off the light! The gashinkies are attracted ta the light!"

Tate instantly shut his flashlight off and signaled for Cholmsky to do the same. Cholmsky did so with a revolted sigh and mumbled cursing. Ethan shot him a look that shut him up before turning back to Davis.

"The gashinkies aren't going to hurt you," he assured him in a soothing voice. "I promise."

"Ye-yes they will!" the prostrate man stammered. "The gashinkies will eat my brain if'n they find me!"

"Not if you come with us," he replied calmly. "We can keep the gashinkies from eating your brains. But you have to come with us. Can you do that?"

"Ho-how can youse protect me?" One bloodshot eye peered out at him from between grimy fingers. "Ain't youse afraid of the gashinkies?"

"Not as much as I am of the Joker."

"Tate!" Cholmsky hissed at his side. "Stop messing around and just cuff the loon already! There's a crowd gathering for chrissakes!"

"Shut up, Cholmsky," Tate told him while keeping his eyes trained upon the visibly trembling man. "So what's it going to be, Davis? Are you going to come with me? Or are you going to let the gashinkies get you?"

Davis allowed him to lead him out of the alley and even to load him into the waiting asylum van without another word of protest.

"Tate," a uniformed officer shouted as he came sprinting up to him. He shoved a radio into his hands. "It's Renaldo. He's saying it's urgent."

Ethan took the radio with a frown.

"Tate," he said as he began making his way over to his patrol car.

"_It's a setup!" _Renaldo grainy voice shouted. "_Get everyone to Gotham General as quickly as you can! McKinley was released from his cell-" _

Ethan froze in his tracks. "Wait…" he breathed out. "What?"

"_It's all a setup!" _Renaldo repeated._ "Rolonov has been dispatched to Gotham General by Matthew Berkeley Jr. to kill Gordon!"_

"How do you know that this is an attempt to kill Gordon?"

"_There was a tip that came in on the call line about twenty minutes ago. They specifically said Berkeley has ordered Rolonov to kill Gordon."_

Tate turned towards his car, trying to puzzle out just why Berkeley would want his brother-in-law dead when a sound, much like that of a thousand 90 mm M1A1's all being fired at once broke the silence of the night. It was as if a thousand bombs were literally dumped upon the city all at once. Fire hydrants blew their caps and gushed like geysers. Manholes blasted high into the air and smashed through windows and into stone gargoyles. Sewer pipes burst, street lamps exploded, and the city went black as the entrance to hell. Soon the cobblestone streets were filled with broken glass, shattered stone and water sliding out from under buildings and pouring from bathrooms and kitchens all throughout Gotham.

The cobblestone streets soon became flooded and cars and people became stranded in the noxious onslaught being unleashed upon them. Alarms began to ring all over the city while emergency sirens screamed for aide. Thousands of Gothamites were rocked from their beds, stunned into silence or startled off their couches. Some just blinked their eyes, stared at clocks before peering out of windows and asking each other, "What do you think is going on?"

Other citizens, those who had long become accustomed to the city being an urban battlefield merely sighed and reached for phones and computers in order to contact family and friends to ask if any of them knew what the hell was happening in the city this time. In a retirement home over by Gotham General, a group of men in their seventies, eighties and nineties shook their heads, put on air raid helmets, checked to make sure their M1911's were fully loaded, and told each other how they just knew those "Nazi bastards would be back someday."

People who were caught out in the streets when the storm broke raced to the nearest house of worship to take refuge and comfort in the word of God. They prayed for whatever was going on to come to a swift end. They'd be the ones who'd be most disappointed, however. For over at Blackgate, the power outage caused by the multitude of explosions had just opened all the locks and tossed open all the cell doors, releasing a swarm of evil upon a city already being swallowed by the chaos.

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><p>Gordon's heart-rate monitor started bleeping erratically. He awoke with a start, jolted from slumber by a tingle creeping along his spine, and the sound of footsteps walking by his room. He had been having a nightmare about Berkeley, Croc, and the sewers. Groggy and confused, it took him a couple of moments before the fog cleared enough for him to realize that <em>something<em> was happening- something _bad_. He could hear furious whispers, shuffling feet, and the occasional gasps, as if someone or some_thing_ was attacking the hospital.

The injured detective was gripped by a sudden sense of _déjà vu_, remembering a time when the Falcone's and Carmine's had converged on this very same hospital in order to eliminate District Attorney Robert Shaw. They'd ended up turning the ninth through the twelfth floors into one major bloodbath. He shoved the disturbing memory aside and focused upon the present. If anyone was attacking the hospital there could only be one reason why: they were after him. He had a good idea who was behind the nocturnal hit as well: _Berkeley_.

He heard footsteps running down the hall. Hospital security was going from room to room. Patients cursed and shouted as they were rudely awakened. Nurses and orderlies struggled to maintain calm. Occasionally there was a metallic crash as a bed pan or tray was knocked to the floor. Gordon felt a familiar tingle along the base of his spine and knew it was beyond time that he checked out of the hospital.

Clenching his teeth to keep from crying out, Gordon painfully dragged himself out of the bed. His stitched wounds protested every movement, but thankfully held together-at least for the moment. He snagged his IV tree and wheeled it across the room with him. The needles in his arm issued a throbbing protest every time he jostled it. His bare feet made not a sound as they shuffled over the cold tiles to the door.

This was definitely _not_ what Dr. Haskell had prescribed as treatment.

_Then again_, he thought as he slowly opened the door and peered out into the hall, another bullet wasn't what the doctor ordered, either.

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><p>In a lavish office somewhere in midtown, Matthew Berkeley contemplated the chaos that was erupting on the streets below. His plans for becoming Gotham's next Kingpin had completely come apart at the seams the second that he found out James Gordon had survived his ordeal in his underground city. A muscle ticked in his jaw. In the reflection of the glass, his eyes glinted with his annoyance and malcontent.<p>

All of his time spent on meticulously planning every detail of his move into the top of Gotham's criminal underbelly, undone.

All of the risks he'd taken, all of the bribes he'd paid, all of the threats he'd eliminated, all of the markers he'd called in, unnecessary.

If Gordon would have just died in the sewers as he'd intended him to do then he wouldn't be in this predicament now. He grunted. If his morons had managed to do their damn jobs, he wouldn't have been forced to cut his losses.

_And that_? He thought as he continued staring out the windows at the world that was even now supposed to be his, annoyed him most of all.

"Davidson," he said in a low voice to the man seated in a chair in front of his desk. "When this is all over I want you to clean up whatever mess that Smith and Rolonov might have left in their wake."

"Are you worried that they won't manage to do as you requested?" An eyebrow lifted. "Or are you concerned that they will muck things up more by doing what you requested a bit too well?"

"I'm simply not taking any chances at this point." He half-turned to look at the officer. "So see that it is done."

He didn't need to tack on an "or else" to his statement. It was implied in his tone about what would happen if the man failed him. It was an implication he saw that Davidson clearly did not appreciate. Not that Berkeley cared about whether or not the man appreciated his silent statement. Long as he did his job was the only thing that he was particularly concerned with.

"Alright," Davidson said as he pushed to his feet. "Is there anything else that you want me to do?"

"Yes, get a message to Croc. Tell him I want to see him."

"Sure thing," was Davidson's reply before he turned and exited the office.

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><p>The streets around Ethan's squad car erupted, sending baseball sized chunks of asphalt screaming high up into the air. Thick black smoke billowed up from out of the manholes and poured out of the sewer drains, telling Ethan where the blasts had originated from. Manholes covers shot off. Water gushed from broken hydrants. Electrical wires dangled, snapping and hissing as they danced over the heads of the pedestrians fleeing in terror. Car horns honked frantically, brakes squealed, sirens bleated. Vehicles collided. Everywhere was chaos.<p>

Struggling to keep control of his car, Ethan swerved to miss an oncoming car. Papers, empty coffee cups and other things went toppling onto the floor of the cab. He swore out loud, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles bled white. _This is to elaborate for a simple cop killing_, he decided. _So what is Berkeley hoping to accomplish by destroying the city like this? _

He crossed over into the mainland and saw that the path of destruction hadn't been limited to just one part of the city. Dozens of cars, trucks and taxis had been scattered in the street like Legos. Some had been crushed like Play-Doh by falling lamp posts and other falling debris. Farther ahead and off to the left, he saw bright blue sparks from where yet another transformer had blown. By his estimate, there were going to be a lot of Gothamites ringing in the New Year in the dark.

_Why, though_? It was the only question that kept playing over and over in his mind. _Why_? he wondered. _What's Berkeley's real agenda here_? _What's he think this is gonna accomplish_? _And why does he want Gordon dead so badly anyway_? The answer slammed into him a few moments later: _he's cleaning up his mess from Christmas Eve_.

Gordon, in one of his rare moments of lucidity on the ride to the hospital had revealed that it was two officers, Davidson and Smith, who had shot him down in an underground city that Berkeley was building. A city, he remembered now, that the Captain had said had been stockpiled with enough explosives to cause the damage that was being done here. Ethan let loose another round of curses and reached for his radio when an explosion went off right below the police cruiser. The car was tossed over onto its roof as if it was weightless. It slid across the fractured asphalt with an agonized screech. Sparks and the shriek of metal against the pavement created a cacophony of sound that had Ethan flinching. He was spared serious injury by the protective embrace of his seatbelt and shoulder strap keeping him firmly in his seat. The back glass shattered when the car did a tailspin and slammed into another parked car. Metal crumpled like a ball of paper.

His world flipped completely upside-down.


End file.
